Rage
by phoenix-tears-uk
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER ADDED - this story is now posted in its entirety. Thanks for sticking with me! STORY COMPLETE!
1. The storm

Sheets of rain pounded onto the windscreen as Jesse squinted into the darkness. It had been raining all day and showed no signs of letting up. Driving down Route 17 the road was slick with water and driving hazardous. Jesse peered out of the saturated windscreen, the wiper's efforts to clear the water being refuted immediately by the tempestuous storm. His shoulders ached with the muscle tension which lingered from the sixteen-hour shift he had just served at the hospital, and he wanted nothing more than to sit back and relax. And that was precisely what he intended to do. 

Being an ER doctor at Community General Hospital wasn't the easiest of jobs, but Jesse loved it. He loved the sense of urgency, and thrived under the intense atmosphere of the emergency room, and although he never knew quite what to expect next he looked forward to each day as though it was his first. One of the best things about working at the hospital though, was not the patients or the dynamic environment in which he worked, but the people he had had the fortune of meeting there. Dr. Mark Sloan, his son Steve, and Dr. Amada Bentley – his colleagues and his friends. _More like my family_ Jesse thought to himself as he manoeuvred his car cautiously around a sharp corner. 

Mark was like the father he'd always wanted: caring, loyal. Reliable. Unlike his own father whom he barely knew, Mark had been there for him on more occasions than he could number. Then there was Steve. Mark's son, and Jesse's best friend, Steve was endowed with his father's loyalty and caring nature. Owning a BBQ business together presented arguments sometimes – particularly due to Steve's apparent aversion to salads – but Jesse looked up to Steve as much as a brother as well as a friend. Finally, there was Amanda, beautiful and intelligent, she acted as a counter-balance to the three men with a dry wit and a deep sense of compassion.

Jesse smiled to himself, despite his aching shoulders he was looking forwards to an evening spent with his three friends, which was precisely where he was heading at that very moment. The Sloan's lived right on the beach and were always welcoming. 

_Maybe Steve's got a new case he's working on? Jesse thought to himself absent mindedly. _

A sudden roar of thunder sounded from above and a flash of lightening brought Jesse's attention crashing back to the road in front of him. Gripping the steering wheel he leaned closer to the window in a desperate attempt to get a better view of the road. The droplets of water refracted car lights and sent flares of luminosity into the air, and with them a glare so blindingly bright that it caused Jesse to snap his head away momentarily and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. Turning back to face the road Jesse blinked furiously, a hazy blur of light obscuring his vision. He shook his head slightly in a futile attempt to clear his eyes and in doing so swerved across the road causing several cars to blare their horns in his direction. Breathing heavily, Jesse pulled on the steering wheel, his hands shaking. 

_Keep it cool, he thought to himself taking a deep breath. _I'm nearly there, so just keep it cool_. _

Slowing his speed to take a bend in the road, Jesse became aware that the car directly behind him was edging nearer and nearer, intermittently blaring its horn. Jesse frowned, peering into the rear view mirror. 

"What the hell…?" he muttered to himself, edging his foot down onto the accelerator in an effort to distance himself from the car which immediately sped up to follow him. Pressing his foot down harder Jesse glanced again into the mirror, the darkness of the night and the raging storm concealing most of the car and its driver from view. Only the headlights were clearly visible, flashing off and on distractingly. Turning his attention back to the road Jesse bit onto his lip. He didn't like this, he didn't like it at all. _What was the other driver doing? Why were they pulling in so close?_ Trying desperately to ignore them Jesse focused on the road ahead. A sudden jolt from behind sent Jesse sprawling forward across the steering wheel, his seat belt cutting painfully into his ribs. Again the car was sent staggering forwards and Jesse realised that the car behind was deliberately colliding with him. A third jolt impacted the car, causing it to veer sideways. Jesse tried frantically to pull the steering straight, but the wet sheen to the road sent the tires into a skid, and as the car careered off the tarmac onto the grass verge Jesse felt his head slam back into the headrest and he knew no more. 


	2. Temper

Mark Sloan pulled back the curtain and peered out into the black night. A storm was raging, and tremendous waves repeatedly crashed against the shore. Living by the beach was wonderful, but watching the power of the ocean as it smashed onto the rocks reminded Mark of the unpredictability of nature. Dropping the curtain back into place Mark turned back to face the room, bright and airy it began to calm the uneasiness which had been fluttering in the pit of his stomach since the storm had started. 

"Dad? Do you know where I put the dip for the chips?" Steve's voice boomed, pulling Mark's attention away from the storm and back to reality. He was in the kitchen preparing to 'cook' dinner. Amada had already arrived, slightly wet but none the worse for wear, and Jesse was due any time now. Sauntering into the kitchen Mark smiled at Steve, bent backed, rummaging through various jars and packets.

"It's in the back behind the salad bowl" Mark said, a wide grin making his blue eyes sparkle as Steve jumped, obviously surprised by the closeness of his father's voice. Steve stood up, rubbing his head with one hand and clasping the tray or dip in the other.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" He ran a hand through his light brown hair, an expression of mock indignation on his face. 

"What are you two up to?" Amada walked into the kitchen, smiling at her two friends. 

"Oh, nothing. Dad's just trying to give me a heart attack is all."

Amanda laughed at Mark's countenance of wide-eyed innocence, and soon enough Steve couldn't help but join in. 

"So where's Jesse?" Amanda asked, peering at the delicate gold watch which adorned her wrist. He was already a half-hour late, and where food was concerned you could usually guarantee Jesse's presence plenty early. 

Mark too peered at his watch, "I don't know, he should be here by now." The uneasiness returned and he made his way to the front window to look out into the dark night. The sky was black, and the rain came down in a deluge. _Wherever he is, _Mark thought_, I hope he's here soon. _

*****************

Opening his eyes Jesse blinked dazedly, once, twice, a third time. His vision was foggy and his head throbbed painfully. Unbuckling his seat belt sent a wave of pain creasing through his chest and Jesse gasped for breath. Placing his hand gingerly over his ribs Jesse felt a tender line that followed the pattern of the seat belt. He leant back in his seat and tried to control his jagged breathing and the increasing sense of panic which began to engulf him. 

*****************

The car pulled slowly to a stop. The driver emerged and slammed the door shut with a bang. Seemingly oblivious to the driving rain, he walked purposefully round to the front of the car and bent down to examine the bonnet. Wiping a finger over the scratched paintwork he nodded to himself. The other vehicle had damaged his car. He stood up and glanced towards the red sports car which lay motionless at the side of the road. First he had been forced to slam on the brakes when the idiot had swerved into his path, and now he had made him scratch his paintwork. Checking that the road was empty the man strode across it to confront the moron who had damaged his car.

*****************

Author's note:

Thanks you so much for your kind reviews! Sorry to leave it on another cliff hanger, but it all adds to the suspense…. Next chapter up soon!

Sarah


	3. Consequences

Resting his head back Jesse squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't believe it. A sixteen-hour shift, a crazed driver and now this. Without warning, the car door was ripped open and a hand reached in and grasped Jesse by the scruff of the neck. 

"What the…?" Jesse found himself being dragged out of the car and slammed painfully against the hood. 

"You scratched my car" The voice spat at him.

"What?" Jesse screwed up his eyes against the torrential rain and peered at the man in front of him. He was tall, thin. His face was twisted with rage and his grip around Jesse throat tightening. 

"I…don't know what… you're talking….about" Jesse barely managed to utter the words because of the pressure on his throat and he clawed desperately at the iron grip of the fingers which dug painfully into his neck. 

"You. Damaged. My. Car. Who the hell do you think you are!? Driving around in your sports car thinking you own the road?! Huh? Well I've had enough of it!"

Jesse couldn't breath. He felt his windpipe being crushed and found it hard to comprehend the man's nonsensical rambling. He lashed out, his hand striking the man across his face, his nails digging into the soft, wet flesh. The man jumped back, releasing his grip on Jesse as his hands flew to the gashes in his cheek. He stood still for a moment, gingerly fingering the fresh wounds. His eyes slowly focused on Jesse's face, a look of pure disbelief and hatred twisting his features into an ugly mask. The next movement was so sudden that Jesse had no opportunity to move. A fist collided with his jaw sending a shock wave of pain radiating through his head and his neck snapped backwards with the force. A second blow connected with his ribs and the air left his body. Again and again he was hit, and then it stopped. The man stepped backwards, panting for breath. He stood, observing Jesse, a look of apathy on his face before lunging forwards and hitting Jesse so violently in the stomach that he immediately felt his legs buckle beneath him and he fell to his hands. Jesse gasped, his mouth open wide, desperate for oxygen that his tensed lungs would not receive. Jesse felt his chest burning and a white heat blazing through his stomach. He choked and spat, his mouth full of blood. A swift kick to his gut knocked him onto his side and he lay motionless, paralysed with pain. Jesse felt his vision begin to cloud, and, hovering on the brink of unconsciousness, he peered up at the retreating form of his attacker before the pain overtook him, and he passed out. 

The sky erupted in a burst of lightening as the man walked away from the motionless and bloodied figure which lay sprawled across the ground. The flash of light reflected on a silvery object which was clasped in the man's hand. It was a knife. 

************************

Despite the anxiety which niggled in the back of his mind, Mark joined in the fun and laughter which flowed freely between his son and friend, and soon enough his worries were all but forgotten. Chuckling heartily at a rather rude anecdote told by Steve involving a burglar, a fire extinguisher and an unsuspecting colleague, Mark silently scolded himself for his unsubstantiated fears and reassured himself that his young friend would be there soon enough. 

************************

Rain pounded down onto the still form which lay face down in the sodden grass. Jesse could feel the cold seeping into his flesh, but could not move. He needed to open his eyes. He needed to find help. If only he could move. His eyelids felt heavy, but slowly he fluttered them open. It was dark. The road lights cast shadows haphazardly in all directions, there shapes distorted with no comprehensible meaning. Jesse choked. His mouth was clogged with dirt and blood, but the action of coughing sent a shock of pain through his body. Emitting a muffled cry of agony Jesse pulled his legs in to form the foetal position to try and support his tortured stomach. His breath came in short, sharp gasps and his body trembled from a combination of shock and cold. _I need help Jesse thought desperately. __Please, someone help me. _

Jesse turned his head to face the road, hoping against hope that a car would come past and see him. He lay on the saturated grass peering into the distance for the telltale sign of car headlights, but nothing came. He waited. Nothing. Even in his confused state this struck him as odd, but Jesse couldn't think as to why. After what seemed like an eternity Jesse realised that no cars were coming; there would be no help. Trying to support his stomach he gently rolled over onto his back. The pain that washed through his body caught his breath and he dared not move again for fear of passing out. Breathing awkwardly he turned his head to one side and screwed up his eyes, both to protect his face from the rain which was still pouring in torrents and to tense up against the shearing pain. After allowing the agony in his tormented body to ease slightly he braced himself again to turn onto his other side so he was now facing his motionless car. Pulling himself sideways Jesse felt a sudden tear rip through his body. His mouth open in a silent scream, and black spots began to dance in front of his eyes. As sheet lightening lit up the turbulent sky above him, Jesse's vision slowly began to darken, and as the intensity of the pain increased, he blacked out. 


	4. Pain

Steve glanced again at the flashing neon clock display on the VCR. It was already 8:30pm, Jesse had been due over an hour ago. Leaving his Dad and Amanda in the kitchen he walked through to the living room and switched on the tv. 

"And now we cross over to our resident weather girl. Stacy, why don't you tell us about today's surprises?"

"Thanks Richard," The weather girl's pearly-white smile lit up her face as she beamed at Steve from the television screen. "Well, today certainly has been full of surprises. A front moving in from the east has brought with it some dense rain clouds, the effects of which we're seeing at the moment. We can expect heavy storms for the next few hours, perhaps enough to cause some localised flooding, but tomorrow things are looking up, and we can expect highs of eighty, so don't forget the sunscreen folks." Another toothy grin and the camera panned back round to Richard. 

"Thanks for that Stacy. And just to let you guys at home know, Route 17 on the coastline has been closed due to some flooding so a diversion is up. You can expect delays of up to an hour, so unless you really need to avoid the area. Up next we have…"

Steve flicked the television of, a wave of relief washing over him. Jesse absence had been niggling at him for the past hour, but this explained it. 

"Hey Dad, I'm guessing we can start dinner without Jesse, the road up to the house has been closed off because of the weather. He probably got turned back."

Mark and Amanda came in from the kitchen to join Steve. 

"What" Amanda said, glancing at the now black tv screen. "The road is close? How am I supposed to get home?" She frowned at Steve, and her mind instantly turned to her children. "Mark, can I use the phone? I need to know if the babysitter can stay the night with the kids."

"Go ahead," Mark motioned towards the phone. "We might as well eat," he said to Steve, then frowned. "It is a bit odd though, I would have thought Jesse would have phoned?"

*********************

Only minutes had passed before Jesse opened his eyes. It took a moment for his foggy brain to take in the unusual surroundings. Jesse groaned when his mind finally realised where he was. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out an arm towards the open door of his car. His fingers just reached the rubber door seal, and he clasped desperately at it trying to get a secure grip. His fingers slipped repeatedly on the wet rubber, but finally he managed to wrap them over the seal. Panting with the effort it took him a moment before he could continue. Bracing himself, Jesse took a deep breath, then another, and on the third he pulled himself, with every ounce of strength he had he pulled himself towards the car door. The pain was immense. A scream waited to erupt from his lips, but no sound would come. Again unconsciousness threatened to overtake him, but this time Jesse fought. Struggling to keep his eyes from closing he continued to pull himself towards the car until he finally rested his body against the slick paintwork. Gasping for breath Jesse struggled to prevent himself from slipping into the black oblivion which called him to its pain-free clutches. Forcing his eyes to remain open Jesse tried to think, what should he do? He could barely move for the pain, and no help seemed to be forthcoming. 

Turning his head to one side Jesse peered into the dark interior of his car. He reached out an arm and flicked on the internal lights, illuminating the car and the surrounding area. 

_Of course! Jesse spotted his cell phone laying on the seat of his car, and a new wave of hope washed over him. Jesse stretched out one hand to reach for the phone and stopped. His hand was streaked with blood. He looked at it for a moment, then down to his abdomen which his hand had been clutching only a moment earlier. His once white shirt was stained red, saturated with blood. Jesse frowned, unable to comprehend the sight before him. Pulling gingerly at his clothing Jesse struggled to open the buttons on his shirt. His fingers were numb with cold, and wet with a combination of rain and blood, and the minor effort was exhausting. Finally achieving his goal he pulled his shirt open wide. Wiping his wet hair from his eyes and heaving for breath Jesse peered down at the smooth skin of his stomach. Blinking furiously as the heavy rain beat down onto him, he saw a wound. A large, jagged laceration, bleeding profusely. And then he understood. The final blow, the strike that had knocked him to the floor… he had been stabbed. _

*******************

"Well, that's sorted then. The babysitter can stay overnight with the kids and will stay there tomorrow until I get back. Whenever that might be…" Amanda bent down to replace the phone onto the table. It was immediately taken up again by Mark.

"I'm just going to try Jesse… Steve, why don't you get dinner started?" Mark dialled Jesse's home phone, and held the receiver to his ear, expectant of his friend's cheery voice. Hearing it begin to ring, Mark walked across the living room to the window, and again peered out into the darkness. The rain was still pouring down and the sky was intermittently lit up with dazzling lightening and heavy crashes of thunder loud enough to suggest the sky would crack in two. Mark dropped the curtain back into place. The phone was still ringing, but no answer forthcoming. Allowing the ringing to continue for another full minute, Mark felt the nagging feeling in his stomach begin to stir once again. He disconnected the phone and dialled Jesse's cell. He always took it with him whenever he wasn't home. The phone rang. And rang. Mark let the phone ring at least forty times, and receiving no response he couldn't help but feel concerned. 

"Dad?" Steve's voice sounded close behind Mark. "Dinner won't be long do you think you could make up some salad?… You ok?"

"Yeah," Mark said, putting the phone back onto the table and running a weary hand over his face. "I was just trying to get through to Jesse – there's no answer either at his apartment."

"Did you try his cell?"

"No answer there either."

"He's probably just forgotten to switch it on Dad, you know what Jesse like. He takes the phone with him but forgets to switch it on. And anyway, even if he has got it with him the weather would probably interrupt the signal. I mean, have you _seen it out there? Steve pulled the curtain to one side, revealing the black sky just as a bolt of lightening splintered the sky. _

Mark let out a heavy sigh, "I guess your right. So, what was that about a salad?"

*******************


	5. Reaching out

Jesse stared down at his stomach, blood flowing freely from the open wound. His breath caught in his throat, and panic swept over him in a tidal wave. Panting raggedly Jesse fought hard to control the fear which threatened to consume him. His mind swirled in a tumultuous mess of panic-inspired half-thoughts. 

_Stop he thought to himself, _I have to stop this_. Trying desperately to control the overwhelming fear he struggled to calm himself, regulating his erratic breathing to hold back the black cloud which hyperventilation held before him. _

The phone! Stretching his arm back Jesse found he could reach the phone easily. Clasping it in his cold hands he held it like a rare treasure. Flicking it on, Jesse made as to dial, but found the phone slipped clumsily form his wet grasp into his bloody lap. Flexing his insensate fingers to try and renew their sensation he picked his phone up again, and began to carefully dial. Holding the phone to his ear Jesse listened expectantly, but to his utter dismay found that no ringing could be heard. There was no dial tone. His phone was dead. 

The realisation hit him cruelly, his only thread of hope being pulled from his reach. 

Dropping the phone to one side Jesse leant his head back onto the car. The rain continued to beat down relentlessly onto his drenched body, his clothes clinging to his skin. Numbness crept through him, an iciness which began to deaden his senses and ease the substantial pain. Even shock didn't shield the implications of this from Jesse.

_I'm going to die out here he thought. __I'm going to bleed to death if the cold doesn't get me first._

A cloud of despair descended over him, and Jesse found himself succumbing to the coldness which bit into his body. The exhaustion he felt was overwhelming and the temptation to give in to it almost irresistible. Eyelids drooping, Jesse found his thoughts turning first to his friends who would be waiting for him, who would probably be worried when he didn't arrive. And then he thought of the man. The tall, thin man who had done this to him. His face contorted in rage. His fists, the blow that had knocked him to the wet grass, the knife…

A new emotion crept into Jesse's consciousness, a feeling of anger stronger than any he had ever experienced before. Fuelled by the intense rage Jesse pulled his head up. With a grunt of conviction he twisted his body around until he was resting on his knees, one hand clasping his injured stomach, the other supporting his body weight above the ground. Breathing heavily Jesse hauled his body up, his legs shaking beneath him, and staggered forwards before half sprawling onto the driver's seat of his car. Hands trembling he struggled to fit the key into the ignition before turning it. The sound of the engine shuddering to life was like music to Jesse's ears. A wide grin of pure relief spread across his face, and he lifted his legs gingerly round to reach the foot pedals. Leaning back against the soft, dry interior of the car Jesse was able to rest for a moment in relative comfort. His whole body ached and his gut burned with pain, heat radiating out from the point of the injury. The temptation to close his eyes was enormous but Jesse fought it, knowing all to well that a moment's lapse in his fight against unconsciousness could be disastrous. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fogginess from his mind Jesse forced his attention back to the car. Pushing his foot gently down onto the accelerator the car slowly began to move forwards, sliding ever so slightly on the cloying mud. Despite the urge to floor the accelerator to hasten his journey Jesse advanced carefully, very aware that one wrong move could bog the tyres down into the mud preventing his only means of escape. Attempting to direct the car back onto the slick road, Jesse found his blood stained hands slipped repeatedly on the steering wheel. He tightened his grip and continued to edge forwards, silently willing the car onwards; praying that nothing would go wrong. And slowly, very slowly, he managed to manoeuvre the car back on to the road, his heart pounding as he realised that help was only minutes away. 

************************

Mark chortled cheerfully at the reminisces of his friends. The food was good, the company was better, and Mark's mind was clear of worries as he joined in the playful jesting. Conversation soon turned to Steve's latest case – a disgruntled waiter who had responded to being fired by poisoning the buffet bar in the restaurant of his former employment. Two people had died and at least a dozen had fallen ill. Mark, as usual had been key to solving the case, although in his modesty he would never admit it. 

"If he hadn't crushed up the pellets in that old pestle and mortar we might never have been able to tie him to it." Mark said knowingly. 

"What I don't get," intoned Steve sounding mildly mystified, "is how on earth you could make the link between a ceramic dish thing and the poisoning?…"

"It was the paint chips. That particular shade of blue was only manufactured for a short period of time in the late eighties. Devlin was the obvious suspect, finding the chipped bowl provided the link we needed."

Steve and Amanda stared at Mark, both marvelling at the bizarre, albeit remarkable, abilities of his reasoning. He looked back at them innocently, 

"What?"

Amanda laughed and Steve soon joined in. The laughter being infectious it was not long before Mark too was guffawing loudly despite having no idea what on earth he was laughing at. 

************************

Jesse cautiously steered the car around the bend in the road, his head throbbing and his vision blurring ominously. Every breath sent pain radiating through his chest and he seemed barely able to manage more than a shallow rasp. The numbness which had been clawing at his skin seemed to have now burrowed deep into his body, a cold steely ache which began to deaden his senses. Jesse's head dropped slightly, the action causing him to jerk back to some level of awareness. He squinted out into the darkness struggling to keep his attention on the wet road. The continuing torrents of rain distorted his already blurred vision, but finally he was able to make out the sign which marked the entrance to the Sloan's drive. 

The adrenaline which was fuelling Jesse's continued ability to function began to wane and unconsciousness swept down on him like a blanket of cloud. His head fell to his chest, and the car, now left without a driver, veered unchecked along the driveway before colliding with a large shrub. 

Rain beat down with such force that it sprung back up off the smooth metal bodywork of the car. Jesse slumped over the steering wheel, horn blaring into the night, unaware that his friends were only yards away, oblivious to his desperate plight. 


	6. Panic

A crash of thunder sounded, so loud it seemingly shook the air. Amanda looked up at the ceiling as the lights flickered slightly. 

"I hope the storm doesn't knock the power out. CJ and Dion don't like the dark…" she trailed off, lost in concern for her two children.

"I'll get some candles just in case…" Mark stood and walked towards the kitchen before a faint sound caught his attention. Frowning in concentration Mark tried to decipher what the noise was. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite fix it in his mind. It was so faint, being drowned out by the raging storm. Tilting his head towards the sound Mark tried to place the direction the noise was coming from. He walked round slowly, straining to hear the noise; although he doubted its importance his fascination with mysteries drove him to investigate. 

The unidentified noise was stronger now; at the front of the house. _It sounds like a horn?…_ Mark thought, his frown increasing.  He pulled back the curtain and strained his eyes looking out into the black night. Nothing. 

Convinced that the noise was indeed coming from the area in front of the house Mark dropped the curtain back into place and went to the front door. He pulled it open, a gust of wind spraying rain onto the welcome mat, splattering Mark's trousers with dark droplets of water. _There!_ In the distance he could see it, the faint glow of car headlights. Seizing an umbrella from the rack at the side of the door he stepped out into the darkness and opened it above his head. The wind was ferocious; threatening to tear the umbrella from Mark's hand at any moment. Clutching it to him Mark made his way down the front steps, screwing his eyes up against the wind trying desperately to make out the stationary car in the distance. It was a sports car. 

_Jesse._

Mark ran forwards stopping short of the car, his stomach clenching painfully as he made out the motionless form of his friend slumped over the steering wheel. The urge to run to his friend was overwhelming but Mark knew that he would need help.

"STEVE!" Mark bellowed, his voice being carried away with the wind. "STEVE!" The sound was drowned out, imperceptible even to his own ears.  

Mark turned to run back to the house, loathsome to tear his eyes from his friend but acutely aware of the urgency of the situation. 

Abandoning the umbrella he ran. Rain pounded down upon him, soaking him to his skin in mere seconds. Clambering up the steps to the house he burst inside calling with every step.

"Steve! Amanda!"

Steve jumped to his feet even before his father came into view. The urgency he heard in his father's voice sounding all too familiar. 

"Dad?…" And then he saw him. Dripping wet, an expression of unequivocal dread etched across his face.

"Mark?! What's happened?" Amada too had jumped to her feet her senses tingling with anticipation. 

"It's…" he panted for breath. "Outside… the car…"

"What?" the confusion in Steve's voice was evident.

"Jesse! Come quickly" And with that he turned and began to run back outside, Amanda and Steve following close behind.

"Dad!?" Steve stood at the doorway watching as his father hurried outside into the pouring rain. "What…?" He stopped as he caught side of the red sports car; Jesse's red sports car.

Ignoring the deluge he too ran, almost slipping on the wet steps, but managing to steady himself. The distance from the house to the car was passed in a matter of seconds as Steve joined his father at the side of the stationary car. The sight of Jesse's unconscious form effected a rush of dread through his body. _Please don't be dead, please…_

Mark pulled the door open to access his friend, his concern increasing as Jesse's arm dropped limply as the support the door had been providing was removed. He rushed forwards to check for the pulse in the inert body of his friend and colleague. Finding a weak and slightly erratic rhythm, although worrisome, was enough to instantly end his fears that Jesse was beyond help. His immediate worries calmed Mark found that his instincts as a doctor took over. Careful to support Jesse's neck Mark gently pulled his body into an upright position. His head lolled to one side, eyes closed, face bleeding and ashen. 

"Jesse? Jesse can you hear me?" He spoke clearly but received no response. 

"Jesse it's Mark, if you can hear me open your eyes…" 

"Dad?" Steve stood behind his father watching numbly as his friend failed to respond in any way. 

"Mark, is he…? Amanda stood to one side of Steve, her unfinished question hanging in the air meaningfully. 

"His pulse is weak, but it's there…"

Mark, who was still bent down busy examining Jesse was cut off when Steve spoke again, shouting somewhat in order to be heard over the continuing storm. "What's wrong with him, did he crash?" Even though he knew his father could not answer the question he had to ask it, he needed some explanation as to what was happening. 

"I don't know… there's a lot of blood…" he gulped back the sickeningly feeling of fear which was rising like bile in the back of his throat. Mark turned to face Amanda, "Amanda, go back up to the house and call an ambulance." She nodded at the order and set of at a sprint back to the house leaving father and son alone with Jesse. 

Mark turned back to face Jesse still form, frowning deeply, "I need more light! We need to get him up to the house…"

Steve stepped forwards immediately to help but was stopped by Mark's outstretched hand. 

"There don't appear to be any injuries to the neck, but we must be careful, we don't know the extent of the damage… we have to work out how best to move him…" Mark squinted up at his son through the rain, a look of uncertainty clouding his normally sparkling blue eyes. 

"Dad, I can do it." The conviction in his voice was enough to convince Mark to remove the hand blocking Steve's path and step to one side. He knew how hazardous it was to move someone from the scene of an accident without the proper precautions that an emergency team would have afforded. He watched with relief though as his son deftly slipped one arm underneath Jesse's head and lifted him easily away from the car. It was obvious that his work as a homicide detective and in the volunteer fire service had given him ample opportunity to hone is rescue skills. 

Steve carefully manoeuvre himself towards the house, Jesse hanging limply in his arms. It struck him how small Jesse seemed, true he knew that he was somewhat larger than his friend; taller by more than a head and much broader across the shoulders, but at this present moment in time Jesse seemed almost child-like. 

Steve continued forwards, his feet sliding slightly in the muddy puddles that had formed on the ground, and he focused his eyes on the door to which he was aiming, screwing up his eyes in concentration, acutely aware that under no circumstances must he allow himself to fall. He reached the steps, his father close behind him, and taking one step at a time began his ascent. 

Mark stood behind his son, one hand grasping the railing for support, the other outstretched to the small of his son's back in readiness to steady him if necessary oblivious of the violent burst of thunder which splintered the sky above him.

And finally, they reached the house. Steve sped up slightly and headed directly to the living room where he lay Jesse carefully onto the couch, his head falling to one side. Panting for breath from the exertion Steve rose and stood over the figure of his friend. 

"Mark!" Amanda came dashing in from the kitchen, the phone clutched in her hands so tightly her knuckles were white and her voice breathy. "There's no signal – the phones are out…" 

This revelation hung for a moment in the air before anyone could respond. 

"I'll try my cell phone." Steve strode out of the room to retrieve his phone leaving his father crouching over Jesse. 

"Mark, how is he?" Amanda approached Jesse's motionless form, peering over Mark's shoulder to make her own visual assessment. 

Mark lifted Jesse's eyelids, one by one, and examined his eyes. "The pupils are equal and reactive, I don't think there's any significant head injury. There's some swelling over the right cheekbone, looks like he took a nasty blow to the face. Probably a mild concussion…" 

Moving the focus of his attention to Jesse's blood soaked midriff, Mark gingerly began to undo the buttons of the shirt and slowly peeled back the saturated clothing which clung to his skin. Emitting a gasp Mark froze, staring transfixed at Jesse's abdomen. Behind him Amanda let out a strangled cry. "Ahh… it… um, looks like a knife wound" Mark said, the tremble in his voice betraying his shock and concern and shattering the air of professionalism he had been displaying only seconds earlier. Taking a shaky breath he continued with his examination, assessing the wound and the extent of the injury. 

"The abdomen is distended, it…ah, looks like the blade has penetrated the peritoneal cavity. The bleeding is still profuse… I…it's likely there's been some major vascular damage…"

Amanda stood back, watching the scene in front of her, aghast. Her rain soaked hair clung messily to her forehead and she pushed it away, her hand trembling. _Stabbed? How could Jesse have been stabbed? He was in his car…._

"He's bradycardic, his BP must be plummeting, Amanda?" Mark turned his head sharply. "Get my bag from my study… Now!" The uncharacteristic rise in volume shook Amanda from her reverie and she turned immediately to do as Mark had asked her, passing Steve as she ran. 

"Dad," Steve gasped, still slightly out of breath. "There's no reception on the cell phone, the storm must be interfering with the…" He stopped as he caught sight of the bloody mass which was Jesse's stomach. 

"Oh my God…"

"AMANDA" Mark shouted, urgent for a response. She came running back into the room, a black leather bag clutched in her hands. She skidded to a halt next to Mark and crouched down to help him as he ripped open the bag. 

"We have to stop the bleeding." He began to pull out various pieces of equipment, tearing opening a large sterile dressing and pressing it firmly to the gaping wound. He turned his attention now back to his son. 

"Where's the ambulance?" He spoke harshly, in an almost accusatory tone.

"There's… there's no signal on any of the phones. The storm is interfering with the signals… I can't get through…"

A sudden crash shattered the air, Steve whirled around on the spot, seeking out the source of the noise but finding nothing. He looked up to the ceiling as the lights flickered, once, twice, and then died, leaving them all in pitch blackness. 

********************

Hi everyone, just a quick note to say than you all so much for reading and reviewing – it's great to get feedback. I'm glad you like the story!!

Sarah J


	7. Darkness

"The power's out in the whole house." Said Steve, flicking the light switch up and down pointlessly. "Where are the candles?!" he barked. "Dad? You went to the kitchen to get them, where did you put them?"

"They're still in there. I never got them." Mark's reply was just as brusque, though not through anger but frustration. 

Steve made his way blindly through the room, bumping clumsily into furniture, the familiar surroundings seeming alien in the darkness. He stretched his arms out in front of him, somewhat reminiscent to a child playing blind man's bluff and carefully felt his way into the kitchen. He groped in through the gloom until he found the worktop, then slid his hands along feeling for the change in texture which indicated the cool stainless steel of the sink. In the drawer to the right was a box of candles. He pulled them roughly from the drawer along with a packet of matches, a lighter and a small torch. Flicking the torch on he strode back to his waiting father, dispensing with the careful steps. 

Candles lit, Mark returned to his unconscious patient, struggling to assess him properly in the flickering half-light the candles shed throughout the room. Shadows fluttered across the floor and the air was hot and oppressive. 

"How bad is it?" Steve stood back, able only to observe as his father and Amanda knelt over Jesse, their hands stained, bloody. Amanda pressing a dressing onto Jesse's abdomen as Mark listened attentively to his chest. 

"The wound is deep," he said, pulling the stethoscope form his ears. "He's lost a lot of blood. It's most likely that the knife has penetrated right through the abdomen, possibly lacerated his spleen. His pressure is dangerously low and his heart is beating very slowly. His breathing is…" he took a steadying breath, "shallow and I think his left lung has been perforated – it sounds like there's a small pneumothorax. We need to get him into a hospital…"

"Mark, the phones are out and the road up to the house is flooded, how are we supposed to get out of here?" Her voice broke, and she turned her eyes back to Jesse not bothering to stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks. 

The three were silent for a moment. The severity of the predicament was clear to them all.

Mark was first to break the silence. His face set in steely determination. 

"We'll do our best. We'll keep trying the phones. When the rain stops, we'll get Jesse out of here… He's going to be fine… First things first. We need to get some fluids into him to replace what he's losing. Get his pressure back up. I need… I need some tubing and some kind of funnel. I've got a canula in my bag…" he paused, obviously searching his mind for the equipment he would need, "but we haven't got an IV bag. Amanda, put some water on to boil, then add some salt and let it cool. Steve we need some kind of tubing."

_Tubing? Steve thought, puzzled as to where he was supposed to find surgical tubing or indeed anything resembling it. _

"Dad, where am I supposed to… Wait! I'll be back in a minute!" Seizing the torch from the table he rapidly made his way through to the garage, the volume of the rain increasing what seemed like tenfold as it pounded onto the thinner garage roof. His eyes searched frantically what he needed and finally spotting it he grabbed it and ran back to his awaiting father. 

"Will this do?" He held aloft a baseball cap, two clear plastic tubes sprouting from the top in which an empty drinks can was lopsidedly placed. 

A wide smile erupted on Mark's face. He had bought the hat for Steve after one of his many injuries, most of which he incurred in the course of his work. 

"That will be perfect. We just need to sterilise it, and the funnel." He indicated towards a large kitchen funnel perched on the coffee table. 

"Any high-proof alcohol will do, and Steve?" he called to the back of his retreating son.

"Please hurry."

***************

The makeshift saline IV, though a strange sight to been seen, was functioning adequately. The sterilised kitchen funnel was taped firmly to the short length of plastic tubing which in turn was taped to the canula protruding from the back of Jesse's hand. The cooled salted water flowing freely, the funnel balanced upon the stand of a lamp, the light itself having been discarded.  

Leaving Steve and Amanda to keep check on their still inert friend Mark left the room. The hallway was dark - the candle's glow did not reach this far and the absence of streetlights left an almost complete blackness. He rested his head against the wall, the cool surface soothing to his brow. His clothing was still damp, and he felt uncomfortable, his skin tingling and his stomach churning._ He's going to die the thought churned through his mind over and over again, _He's lost too much blood, we got to him too late_. The mere thought of losing Jesse felt like it was choking him from the inside, _I'm a doctor_ Mark thought to himself _I'm a doctor, and I'm his friend, and I can't save him.__

After taking a few deep breaths Mark poked his head around the corner of the wall to check the stability of the situation, and finding no change he felt his way slowly to his bedroom to change his clothes, the cool darkness providing the respite he desperately needed. 


	8. Waking

Steve sat on the edge of the armchair, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He stared almost unblinkingly at Jesse, watching with determination at his chest rising and falling, almost fearful of taking his eyes away in case the tenuous breathing should stop. 

"What?" Steve moved forwards in his seat, "did he just…?"

"What?" Amanda stared fearfully first at Steve, then at Jesse. 

"His eyes, he… I think he… There!" Steve jumped to his feet and stared closely into Jesse's face. Sure enough, his eyes flickered. 

"Jesse? Honey, can you hear me?" Amanda knelt closer to Jesse, her hand stroking one side of his clammy face gently. 

Jesse felt tired, cold. His brain was telling him to sleep, and yet he knew he shouldn't. His mind felt foggy and he couldn't quite work out what it was that he was thinking. But he knew there was pain. His body hurt; there was pressure on his stomach that was aggravating the agony he already felt and he wanted to make it stop. He tried to open his eyes but they felt heavy, as though his eyelids were glued together. It was a struggle, but he tried again. There was noise – voices. _Who is it? Jesse wondered, the thought spinning around in his head. _I was alone, on the road… except for the man… he has a knife!__

Jesse threw out his arms in front of him, striking out at the man, to stop him, to hurt him.

"NO!" he lashed out, eyes wide in fear, trying to move, to get away, but arms restrained him.

"No! Get off me!" He struggled against the strong grip, pain searing through his gut he found he could not resist and was easily pushed back down to the ground.

"Jesse! Jesse! No, you have to keep still!"

"Jesse, we're not going to hurt you… Jesse, please!"

_No! The only thought Jesse was capable of was the need to fight, to get away from the man with the knife, but the pain was immense. It took his breath and he found his energy leaving him without even the voice to scream in agony. He reached out one hand towards his stomach, to try and push away the source of the pressure, to try and ease the pain._

"Jesse _please!" Amanda pleaded with her struggling friend, "please, you have to calm down…"_

"Jess, Jess it's ok." Steve softened his voice. He felt a wrench of compassion in his gut as he watched Jesse flailing his arms in a weak attempt to protect himself, his pale face creased in pain.

_The voices, he recognised the voices. They penetrated his clouded thoughts and he understood them. _

"Steve?" his voice was weak now, the energy behind the original outburst had evaporated and he felt drained. "Steve? Amanda?"

"Jesse. It's ok, you're in the beach house. You're safe now…" Amanda stroked his face soothingly.

"Amanda? It… it hurts." His voice wheezed ominously over the sound of his rasping breath and he choked as a coughing fit over took him, taking away what little ability he had to breathe. 

"Amanda?" Steve intoned imploringly. "What?…"

He looked on at Jesse's writhing form, his muscles tensed and his face contorted in pain as he fought for breath. 

"Steve?" Mark strode back in to the room frowning deeply, "What happened? Jesse? Jesse its Mark." He knelt down besides him and placed his hands on Jesse's tensed shoulders. "Jesse. I know it's hard but you need to control your breathing. Try and slow it down, that's it…" 

With some difficulty Jesse tried to concentrate on taking in the oxygen his body desperately needed, and gradually he managed to slow his breathing enough to stave off the unconsciousness which was again threatening to overcome him. 

"Mark" even to his own ears Jesse's voice sounded like it was coming from a distance.

"Mark, I… I can't breathe, it hurts."

"Jess," Steve bent low, the flickering candle lights casting shadows across his face. "Jess, what happened?"

Amanda cast a furtive look at Mark, although she herself had been keen to ask the question she was intensely aware that Jesse was in no fit state to talk, but seeing that Mark made no move to halt the inquiry she remained silent in anticipation, awaiting Jesse's response. 

"I… I was on the road. There was a car… a man… he hit me." For a moment, but for the labouring of Jesse's breathing, there was silence. 

"It was my fault, I wasn't looking, I should have… I wasn't paying attention…"

"What do you mean?" said Steve somewhat incredulously, "how can this have been your fault?"

"He… he said…" there was a pause, "his hands, I couldn't breath."

All eyes flicked towards Jesse's throat, a mass of purpling bruises, some resembling the elliptical shape of fingertips, were clear even in the dusky glow of the candles. 

"He hit me, I couldn't… he had a knife…" Jesse coughed again, a wave of pain flushing throughout his body, and a drop of blood trickled slowly from the corner of his mouth. His speech continued but was beginning to take on a repetitive, incoherent quality. 

"He hit me, it…I…my phone, no signal… Steve, you… he hit me…" With each word Jesse voice became weaker, more distant. His eyelids flickered, and closed. 

"Jesse?" Steve intoned loudly, trying again to rouse his friend. 

"Steve, leave him." Mark's voice was concerned, tinged with weariness. "He needs to rest." He stood up awkwardly, one hand supporting his lower back as he stretched out his tired muscles. 

Steve too stood, and leaving Amanda to keep watch on Jesse he ushered his father to one side. 

"Dad" he whispered, "Tell me honestly, how bad is he?"

"Well," Mark responded after a slight hesitation, obviously choosing his words carefully, "his level of consciousness is concerning and the volume of haemorrhage is bringing on the first signs of hypovolaemic shock, he's already cyanotic and showing signs of hypoxia.."

"English Dad, English." Steve interrupted. 

"Sorry," Mark replied distractedly and sighed, "Sorry. He's lost a lot of blood. When the quantity of circulating blood goes below a certain volume it begins to affect the way the body is able to function. He's not getting enough oxygen and… and his lips are turning slightly blue and he's confused– that's the hypoxia. And, well, I'm concerned about his temperature, he seems to be quite hypothermic.."

"What?!" Although many of the medical terms his father used still left him confused this was one he understood, the implications of its seriousness clear in his mind. 

"Well, it's not necessarily such a bad thing,"

"Dad, how can you say that? Jesse's been _stabbed_, we can't get him to a hospital and now you tell me he's half frozen as well?!" 

"Steve, listen. The hypothermia is probably the only thing working for us at the moment. When the body temperature falls it slows everything down." He fell silent, allowing Steve to process the information. 

"You mean?" The essence of what his father was saying sparked in Steve's mind, 

"Yes, the blood flow is slowed so the bleeding isn't as severe as it could have been. He's still in trouble, but for now, well… for now we can still hope."


	9. Fear

Steve sat back in the armchair, one hand grasping the other. His posture was hunched, tensed as if in readiness to pounce. A deep frown creased his handsome features, and although his eyes were fixed on Jesse's pallid face they were unseeing, clouded with a swirl of conflicting emotions. 

_How can this be happening? Jesse would never hurt anyone! How could someone just attack him completely unprovoked? From confusion they turned to worry, _What if he's not ok? What if we can't get him to the hospital in time? What if…?_ And then to anger, at the man who attacked Jesse; _When I find who did this I'll make them regret it. They'll wish they'd never been born_, and at Jesse himself, _Why didn't he just go home? The rain was heavy, why trail up here in such bad weather? What did he do to aggravate the other driver?__

It was these last thoughts which disturbed him the most. He knew he had no reason to be angry with Jesse, no reason at all, and yet he couldn't help it. These thoughts were born more out of frustration and the intense feeling of helplessness he felt rather than actual anger, but he still hated himself for thinking it. It was in the midst of these thoughts that Amanda came back into the room, her presence shaking him from his ruminations. 

"Hey" She smiled, her eyes betraying her exhaustion. Steve returned the smile, albeit briefly. 

"I just dried off a bit… so, any change?"

"No. Nothing." Steve didn't even raise his eyes. He knew his response was short, but he couldn't stretch his chaotic thoughts to niceties. 

"I'll, uh, just… I'll see if Mark needs any help with…" Amanda fell silent, completing the excuse was unnecessary, Steve was obviously completely unaware that she was talking to him so she left, silence again settling in the room. 

The air was hot, stifling. The candlelight illuminated only a small radius from its central point, almost as if a spotlight were being shone on Jesse. Outside the circle of light the room was in almost complete darkness, and Steve let his eyes wander from the orange glow of the candles. The rattle of the rain echoed from outside the windows, and the roar of the stormy waves crashing against the beach lulled Steve into an almost hypnotic trance with their rhythmic beat. 

"Steve?" Jesse spoke softly, the effort obviously laborious.

"Jess?" Jesse's voice grabbed his attention immediately and he turned to face him. "How you feeling?"

"Not so good," Jesse attempted a smile which turned into a grimace before it managed to reach his usually shining blue eyes. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore but," he paused and took a shaky breath, "I'm so tired…"

"Jess, you have to hang on. Promise me, ok? We're gonna get you outta here so you have to hang on. Jesse?" Steve raised his voice, Jesse's eyes flickered as if to close, but opened again as Steve shook him gently. 

"Ok. I…" Jesse squeezed his eyes closed as another wave of pain washed through him taking his breath, he gasped. As the pain abated he blinked his eyes open again, the seething bruises across his cheekbones seemingly highlighted against his ashen pallor. "Steve… I'm scared." Jesse fell silent, despite the situation he still felt a deep sense of shame at admitting his fear, he had, after all, been extremely self-sufficient for most of his life and was unused to showing, what he considered to be, weaknesses. 

 Steve watched his face, able to read his anguish as easily as if it were the printed word in a book. 

"Jesse, you have every right to be scared, hell, if that were me I'd be as scared too – anyone would be. But you're going to be ok. I just know it, and don't argue with me, I'm a cop." He grinned down at Jesse, his tone playful. This lightening of the tension seemed to rub off somewhat on Jesse who managed to return the smile, and as his eyelids again fluttered to a close he mumbled, almost inaudibly, 

"I'm going to be ok."


	10. Nightmare

Steve sat by the window, watching the storm outside. He hadn't seen rain so torrential for years. Mark sat back at the table, the discarded plates still littered with half eaten food sat unattended. Amanda, her eyes fixed determinedly on Jesse, sat perched on the armchair, her posture stiff and tense. No one spoke, each absorbed with their own thoughts. 

_Four hours Mark thought, tapping his wristwatch with one finger. The face and its numbers were almost indiscernible in the dark but he had managed to see the time during a particularly violent flash of lightening. _12:07am___, so there's about four more hours of darkness before dawn… Mark tried to think, to plan a way in which he could keep Jesse alive long enough to get to the hospital. __It's too dangerous to try and move him now, his condition is far too unstable… We have to get more fluids into him, keep his pressure up… It was with this thought in his mind that he stood and wandered absent mindedly into the kitchen to prepare more water for infusion. _

Amanda stared deeply into Jesse's face. His pale features contracted in pain even in sleep, his blonde hair ruffled messily, discoloured with dried mud and streaks of blood. She watched his chest rise and fall, trembling with each shallow intake. His lips were tinged blue, his blood stained clothing creased where it had dried to his skin. Amanda found she appraised him in a way not dissimilar to her assessments of the numerous bodies which came to her mortuary table; unfeeling, disconnected. Her muscles ached with tiredness, but her mind was numb, unable even to feel the exhaustion of her body. Too tired to move, unwilling to sleep, she simply sat, her eyes bright with tears, staring deeply into Jesse's face.

Steve sat with his back to the room, staring out of the window. He watched, almost mesmerised, at the sheets of rain as they pounded at the ground. What had been small puddles a couple of hours previously had now merged, creating a myriad of miry swamps which seemed to grow with each passing minute. He scanned the courtyard which fronted the house, alarmed at how it could look so different in such a short space of time. Only that afternoon had he driven up the same driveway Jesse had struggled to negotiate, parked his car and entered the house for what he had expected to be a relaxed evening with his father and friends. Yet now, in the absence of streetlights and through a deluge of rain it all looked so alien to him, the dark corners hiding any number of secrets, the carefully pruned shrubbery a haven for cloaking prowlers. 

Steve sat back in his chair and rubbed wearily at his eyes. They itched with tiredness but he was determined that he would stay awake, determined that he would be ready to help whenever he was needed – determined to protect his friend. _Just for a minute he thought, _I'll just close my eyes for a minute…__

_The courtyard was awash with dazzling sunlight. Steve let his car glide to a halt before pulling on the hand brake and turning off the ignition. Rather than get out of the car he rested his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, letting the warm sunshine wash over his face. Comfortable in the silence and with the glow of the sun on his face he found he could easily drift into a contented sleep… A sharp crackling broke the silence, jerking Steve from his slumber. "All units please respond, there is an ongoing 1014 in progress at…"_ Steve listened for a moment with only mild interest before switching his police radio off. He was off duty and had no intention of going back into work so soon, after all, Amanda and Jesse were coming over for dinner. He wanted to run one of his cases by them, see what they made of the evidence… Steve got out of the car and made his way towards the house. But something wasn't right… he found his feet moved with difficulty, as though they were cohered to the ground. He look down and found his feet embedded in thick mud, dark and cloying. But it looked wrong, almost red… It was blood. A sea of thick, viscous blood. And it was rising. The sticky fluid rose insidiously, it was at his ankles, his knees. Steve struggle to pull himself from its unrelenting grasp, but he couldn't move. He searched around him, looking desperately for something to grab hold of, to pull himself from the quagmire. There! He could see something large floating on the surface of the growing lake of blood. It… No! It was Jesse, floating face down into the blood, drowning. Steve struggled to get to him, to help him. But he couldn't move. The blood was up to his elbows and rising faster than ever before. It was creeping up his neck, over his mouth. He had to get to Jesse, to save him, but he couldn't breathe, he was drowning in the sea of blood…__

"NO!" Steve jerked awake, a cold sweat trickling down his back. His heart pounded hard against his chest, the sound of it resounding in his ears. His blood seemed to be pooling in his head and his skin felt hot, yet his insides were freezing. 

"Steve? What is it?" Mark was by his side in a second, concern evident in both his voice and his frown

Steve momentarily peered up into his father's anxious face, then looked away. He felt very aware of the beads of perspiration which were grouping on his temples and he wiped them away self-consciously. 

"Uh…, it's nothing, just… just a dream." He stared down at his feet, a flush of heat rising up his face causing his cheeks to flame red with embarrassment. As Mark made no effort to move, Steve looked up at him again, noting for the first time the lines of worry and tiredness etched into his father's face. 

"I'm ok Dad, really" he spoke more softly this time, "Why don't you take a nap? Amanda and I can keep an eye on Jesse…"

"No" Mark responded rapidly and firmly leaving no room whatsoever for disagreement or continued negotiation. Steve knew there was no point continuing to try and persuade Mark to take a rest, once his father had made his mind up about something it was completely pointless to try and persuade him to an alternative. After a moments silence Mark spoke again, 

"I'm just going to start Jesse on a second infusion – his pressure is stable, I think its helping…" Mark trailed off, adding silently to himself, _For_ now_. He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly before disappearing again into the darkness in the direction of the kitchen. _

Steve leant back in the chair and stretched his arms out above his head. He still felt a dragging tiredness pulling at his muscles but he couldn't sleep. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, the image of Jesse drowning in a pool of blood crisp and haunting. He shook his head to try and flush the vision from his mind, but finding it still clear he stood and made his way back over to Amanda and Jesse, their presence hopefully providing enough of a distraction to tear his mind from his fears. 

"Hey" Steve said by way of greeting, his voice unnaturally polite. It seemed odd, almost formal to greet Amanda in his own living room like this but then again, the whole evening had been anything but what he would have usually expected. 

"Hey" she smiled a weak, almost sad smile. "What was that all about just now?"

"Oh, it was nothing. Just a stupid dream…" He trailed off, not wanting to say anything more. He still felt slightly ashamed at yelling out like he had. He turned his attention instead to Jesse. 

"Has anything… changed?"

"No" Amanda replied with a sigh. "He's not moved for over an hour, but there's been no change in his vital signs so that's good…" she trailed off thinking that there was in fact nothing good whatsoever about the whole situation. 

"I…" Steve fell silent, his brow furrowed as though deep in thought. Something had just occurred to him. Amanda waited a moment for him to continue. 

"Steve? What were you saying?" Amanda inquired, watching him in bewilderment as he stared at some indistinct spot somewhere above her left ear. Receiving no response she probed again.

"Steve? Hey!" She waved a hand in front of his face trying to snap him from his stupor. 

"Huh?" Steve blinked as if surprised to see Amanda there. 

"Oh, I… I just had a thought…" he trailed off as something stirred in his memory_, maybe, just maybe…_

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What were you thinking!?" Amanda said, exasperation evident in her voice. 

"I… I'm not quite sure…" He answered with a faraway look on his face, obviously still lost in thought. 

Amanda appraised him bemusedly and responded sardonically. 

"So… let me make sure I've got this right. You're thinking of something, but you're not sure what."

"Yeah…" Steve responded slowly, and got to his feet. 

"Yeah, uh, I'll be back in a minute…" Steve trailed off yet again and after picking the torch up off the table he wandered slowly out of the room, Amanda watching his retreating form with a bewildered frown on her face. 


	11. Breakthrough

_I wonder… Without the use of the torch Steve made his way through the dark, his eyes now sufficiently accustomed to the lack of light to allow him to walk without crashing into anything. _

If the thought which had just occurred to him panned out then their problems might just be solved. A funny tingling sensation started to bubble through his stomach; a feeling of anticipation and excitement that he dared not share with anyone for fear of letting them down if things did not work out. 

_Please he thought, _please let the radio be working. __

The thought had come to him only minutes before. It had been lost in the images of Jesse and the blood; remnants of the nightmare. __

_The radio. _

It was so simple. Steve couldn't understand why it hadn't occurred to him before, he did, after all, use it almost every day to call in emergencies. _I'll go out to the car and radio for help. Jesse will be fine. _It all sounded so easy yet he knew that the storm which was interfering with the phone reception may well be disturbing the radio signals as well. But still he hoped. He had to hope. 

Steve wrenched open the front door and quietly made his way outside. He didn't want anyone to question him as to what he was doing so maintained as much quietness as he could and only switched on the torch when the door had been firmly closed behind him. In his haste he ignored the slippery wood and suddenly found his footing fail him. He tumbled forwards and threw his arms out to break his fall, the torch flying from his grasp. His left wrist emitted a sickening crack as it impacted with the puddle ridden floor. A wave of pain spread through his wrist, sending tendrils of electric-like agony radiating up through his fingers and shooting down through his elbow. He immediately shifted his weight onto the uninjured arm, the action of which threw him off balance even more and he found himself falling heavily onto his right side. His head cracked painfully onto the muddy ground and he was left lying in an unceremonious heap at the bottom of the steps. 

Steve lay for a moment, unmoving. His wrist throbbed painfully and his head ached at the point of impact. Using only his right hand he pushed himself up into a sitting position and rested back against the bottom step. Rain pounded down onto his unshielded body but it was pointless to try and seek shelter, he was already soaked to the skin, great streaks of mud dirtying his wet clothes. The action of moving sent a wave of dizziness washing through his head and he raised a hand gingerly to the spot which seemed to be the epicentre of the pain. Prodding it gently he found a small hard lump protruding from his forehead and he groaned inwardly. This was all he needed. Being careful to protect his damaged wrist Steve got first onto his knees, then his feet. His clothing was absolutely saturated and clung heavily to his skin. Cursing himself silently Steve faltered, looking back up the steps to the house then into the darkness in the general direction of his parked car. He felt like a greatly enlarged heart was pulsing heavily in his wrist and he wondered fleetingly if he should go back up to the house and strap it up. The idea was dismissed almost as soon as it had entered his head however, the urge to investigate the radio was too strong to ignore or delay any further. Stepping carefully towards the narrow beam of light being emitted from the fallen torch Steve stooped down and swept it up. Aiming the light in the vague direction of his car Steve carefully made his way through the darkness. After fiddling awkwardly with his keys and trying to juggle the torch with only one hand Steve managed to open the car door. 

Sitting in the car it was with some relief the he was able to shelter from the rain. Resting the torch onto the dashboard of the car Steve wiped a hand over his eyes, managing only to spread the water rather than clear it from his face. Blinking a few times he sought out his radio, and somewhat clumsily with his left hand he flicked it on. 

Waiting with baited breath he listened for the usual buzz of static. Nothing. But for the rain beating down onto the car and the rumble of thunder creaking through the sky. Steve's breath caught in his throat with disappointment and reached out his hand to the radio to change the frequency band. Before he could touch the dial the radio crackle into life. 

Steve felt like cold water had trickled down his back as his senses came to life, he grabbed the radio handset.

"This is Lieutenant Steve Sloan, do you receive me?"****

"This is dispatch, we are receiving you."

Steve froze. All knowledge of proper protocol evaporated form his mind and he stumbled over his next words in his haste to get the help Jesse desperately needed. 

"Uh, I need… I mean" Steve paused and took a deep breath and started again, "Urgent request for an ambulance. We have one casualty – male; he's sustained a serious knife wound to the stomach, please respond…?" 

"We copy you, please confirm your location and we will dispatch paramedics to you."

Steve shakily answered the question, confirming the address and awaiting a response. 

"We have alerted the paramedics to your situation and location, however they will be unable to reach your exact position due to flooding on Route 17. In order for the ambulance to reach you, you will have to go to a halfway point. Due you copy?"

Steve stopped. The flooding on the road had slipped his mind and presented another problem to the dozens which already filled his thoughts. The earlier lapse in professionalism behind him Steve ploughed ahead with the necessary questions he knew he should ask, ascertaining the exact position 

of the flooding and the closest point to which he could take Jesse where the paramedics would meet them. 

It was with a shaking hand that Steve laid down the radio receiver. He was breathing harder than when he went for his usual morning jog, and a strange sense of calm had washed over him as it dawned on him that he had done it. He had called for help. _Jesse's going to be ok…_

Steve pushed open the car door and stood abruptly, a fresh surge of dizziness prickling through his head, but he ignored it. A ripple of excitement was churning in his stomach; a kind of giddy happiness that he hadn't known since he had been a young boy on Christmas day. His eyes felt hot and every fibre of his being agitated as the thought flushed through his mind. _Jesse's going to be ok…!_

Careful to mind the swampy puddles of mud he pointed his torch towards the house. He fought hard to resist the urge to run, images of Amanda's and his father's faces when he told them the news flashing through his mind. His wrist still throbbed painfully however, and he didn't want to run the risk of falling again. Holding his wrist protectively in to his chest he made his way up the steps to the darkened house, a tingle of anticipation crawling up and down his spine. 

"Dad!" he called, unable to hold off the impulse to blurt out his news any longer. 

"Dad!" he called again, rounding the corner to the living room. His next words failed to make it from his lips however as he took in the scene before him.

Jesse lay on the floor, deathly still as his father and Amanda knelt over him. Mark's fingers were intertwined, his elbows locked as his arms pressed up and down rhythmically onto Jesse's chest. Jesse's head was in Amanda's hands, one palm resting on his upturned chin, the other squeezing gently on his nose as she sealed her lips around his mouth, exhaling deeply into his lungs. A steady stream of tears cascaded down her face, falling onto Jesse's cheeks. The small pearls of water shimmered in the candlelight as they trickled across his pallid skin leaving a trail of dampness. Steve thought for a moment that Jesse was crying. But he wasn't crying. He wasn't breathing. The realisation seemed to suck all the air from Steve's lungs until he too felt like he could no longer breathe. He stepped backwards, trying to distance himself from what was happening. He searched his surroundings with his eyes, looking desperately for something, anything, which might end the nightmare that he and everyone he cared about seemed to be trapped in. But there was nothing to find, nothing to stop his best friend from dying. Steve fell back against the wall, his shoulders slouched. He desperately wanted to run away, to leave everything behind, to be on his own. He felt as though he would suffocate, his blood pounded through his veins and the sound of his father counting out the compressions which were forcing Jesse's heart to beat rang in his ears. Steve squeezed his eyes closed to block out his surroundings. He was in his home, a place he should feel safe and protected, and yet he felt he was drowning in a sea of despair, his nightmarish dream becoming reality.

Hi everyone, sorry for the delay on uploading this chapter – server hasn't been able to load the site since Thursday (????). Anyway, thanks for reading – I hope you enjoyed this instalment.

Sarah J


	12. Tension

Steve leant back against the wall, defeated. Tears pricked his eyes as he watched his father desperately working on Jesse, paralysed to do anything to help. He turned his head away, ashamed at himself for crying and furious that he could do nothing to help his best friend when he so desperately needed it. 

"I've got a pulse!" Amanda's voice rang out, heavy with relief. Mark immediately stopped his compressions and sank back onto his heels. He was breathing heavily, his eyes appeared glazed and his shoulders slumped; he looked like a man utterly drained. 

Amanda emitted a stifled cry, silent sobs wracking at her chest. She clambered to her feet, and wiping a shaking hand over her tear stained face she turned and hurried from the room, retreating away from the dim candlelight, her choking cries echoing in the silent, inky darkness. 

Steve moved further into the room, he stared down at Jesse, his chest rising in weak, shuddering inhalations. The once white dressing on his injured stomach was now stained a deep, crimson red as blood continued to seep from the wound. Steve shifted his attention to his father, 

"Dad?" His voice barely sounded above a whisper. 

Mark looked up and stared unseeingly into his son's face, then open his mouth to speak. He mouthed silently for a moment for dropping his head down. He squeezed his eyes closed and seemed to recover himself. 

"He stopped breathing. Amanda noticed first. We started artificial respirations immediately but his heart stopped…" Mark stopped mid-sentence, the fresh memory obviously painful. "He was down for nearly ten minutes, I thought…"

Steve didn't need the sentence to be finished. He had thought the same thing – that Jesse was dead. That he had lost his best friend. For a few minutes there was silence. All thoughts but the image of Jesse lying on the floor, fighting for his life were erased from his mind. He simply sat and stared at him, willing him not to give up.  And then the veil which had descended on his consciousness lifted and he remembered the news which only minutes earlier he had been bursting to share. 

"Dad!" His sudden rise in volume startled Mark, who visibly jumped. 

"My police radio – I managed to call for an ambulance…" Steve was interrupted by Mark's surprised reaction. His head snapped up, a frown creasing his features. Had he heard correctly?

"What?" his voice was harsh, piercing. 

"An ambulance, they're…"

"You called an ambulance from your police radio?" Mark's face was fixed in a steely glare most unusual to his usually gregarious face. It disturbed Steve slightly. 

"Yeah, they said we'd…" again he was interrupted. 

"All this time... You could have called for help hours ago." The tone in Mark's voice was definitely hostile, unlike anything Steve had ever known before. He stared at his father, confused.

"I didn't think…"

"You could have called for help, and Jesse could be in a hospital right now instead of laying there, bleeding to death!"

Steve stared, amazed. 

"Dad, I…" he honestly didn't known how to respond. A millions thoughts twisted through his mind, most of all bewilderment at how his father could look at him in such a reprehensible way. _I couldn't have done it any sooner he thought, _I didn't think. None of us did._ A surge of anger flare in his stomach, _How dare he blame me?! Any of us could have thought of using the radio!_ But a small voice niggled in the back of his mind, __But it's your radio, it said. _Maybe,_ it whispered, _maybe if you had thought of it earlier Jesse wouldn't be in such a serious condition. You are a police detective after all, you should have thought of it sooner. _Steve opened his mouth to defend himself, but found that no words would come. His father had voiced something which always lurked in the back of his mind, coming to the brink of his consciousness in times of worry just to drag him a little deeper into despair. _

_I should be able to protect them he thought. __I should be there when they need me, but I never am. With that belief filling every fibre of his reason he sank back into the armchair, resting his swollen, pulsating wrist into his lap. At his feet, Jesse fought for breath, but lost in the conclusion that he could have done something to help Jesse earlier, he descended deeper into a morass of despondency. _

Mark sat back on his heels, his breath still coming heavily. He felt a deep sense of anger towards his son, but a flush of shame was also creeping up his face. He knew, in his heart of hearts that Steve was guilty of nothing and that he was being completely irrational. But he still felt an untenable kind of release at having fired off some of the tension which had been boiling in his gut for hours. Staring down at Jesse he felt, at first, justified. _He should be in a hospital_ he thought. But then looking closer at him; his almost porcelain-like complexion, the dark bruises and the streaks of blood, he felt overwhelmingly sick. Jesse wouldn't want this. Steve was his best friend; he would never do anything to make him feel so wretched, and anyway, wasn't it more important to get Jesse the care he needed rather than quarrel over such nonsense? 

All traces of anger dissipated as quickly as they had surged, leaving a hollow emptiness sitting heavily in his stomach. Mark glanced up at his son, his shoulders hunched and head drooped to his chest. The emptiness seemed to swell. 

"Steve?" Mark addressed him cautiously, but received no response. 

"Steve, I'm sorry, I…" What could he say to excuse his behaviour? 'Sorry' hardly seemed enough to forgive such a ridiculous outburst. 

"Steve, please..?

Finally Steve raised his head. He looked measuredly into his father's face as if sizing him up, then gave a slight nod. 

"Its ok Dad. I know… everything's crazy. Lets just get Jesse out of here, ok?" Steve recognised in his father's face the contrition of sinner. He had no wish to dwell on the accusation that had been directed at him, trying to assure himself that it was born out of sheer frustration rather than true blame. 

But the voice still lingered, whispering maliciously in his head, taunting him. 


	13. The best laid plans

"So…" Mark intoned a moment later, still hedging his words carefully but determined to get back to business, "How long until the ambulance arrives?" 

"They aren't." Despite his resolution to ignore the whisper in his head and the memory of the accusatory glare on his father's face Steve found his voice sounded unusual, most unlike his own. He glanced at Mark to see if he had noticed, but averted his eyes again quickly to avoid making contact, the action of which caused a shudder of dizziness to flush through his head. 

"I mean," he started again quickly having taken in the alarmed expression on Mark's face, "They can't get up the road because of the flooding. They need us to take Jesse about 10k down the road then we'll have to find some way of getting him across the flooded area…" Steve glanced at his father again, half expecting some sign of relief that help was finally at hand, but was somewhat surprised to see a raised eyebrowed look of perturbation.  

"What? What is it?" Steve knew instantly that his father had identified a problem. Mark remained silent, his brow creased in thought, he responded slowly.

"I don't think we can move him… his condition is far too unstable…"

Steve felt like a heavy weight had sunk in his stomach.

"What?" his tone was incredulous, and yet he knew his father was right.

"Dad, we can't just sit here and do nothing! We nearly lost… we nearly lost Jesse" he spoke the last words slowly and with a heaviness to his voice; the implication almost soul destroying. "We can't wait for help to come to us – it'll probably be morning before the roads are cleared sufficiently."

"I know" Mark's voice was despondent, dully accepting in a way Steve had never heard before. It was almost as though he had given up. 

"Dad, we're going to get Jesse out of here whether you think he's stable enough or not. Now, do whatever you have to to get him in the best condition possible before we leave, ok?" 

Mark was slightly taken aback by Steve's forcefulness, and it was evident on his face. It did, however, have the desired effect of snapping him out his despairing musings. Staring down at Jesse, taking in his almost motionless body as he took in feeble breaths, a renewed sense of determination surged through his exhausted body. Taking a deep resolving breath Mark nodded his head in assent, and locked eyes with Steve. For the first time he took in his son's appearance and it shocked him. 

"Steve! What happened? Are you alright?" Steve's face was streaked with mud that was drying crustily to his right cheek, and his clothing stuck wetly to his skin. An already bruising lump protruded from his forehead and he was holding his arm awkwardly, as though trying to protect it. 

Steve looked upon his father for a minute, uncomprehending of the sudden concerned questioning. Coming across Jesse in such a dire state had temporarily numbed his mind from the pain in his wrist which was now starting to creep back through his anaesthetised senses. He glanced down briefly at his swollen arm trying to discern the sensations which were now pulsating gratingly at his nerves before the memory of the fall flashed back through his mind. 

"Oh… it's nothing, just… I slipped…" He made a lame attempt to brush off his injuries but privately felt a rush of warmth towards his father as his arm was carefully examined. 

"Ah!" Steve winced, the act of rotation catalysing a shockwave of pain which seemed even to penetrate his fingernails. 

"This is definitely broken." Mark was back in full doctor-mode, but the caring-father face still shone through. "I'll have to put a splint on it to try and prevent further damage. Now, lets take a look at your head."

Despite his assertions that he was fine Steve was soon perched on the edge of the armchair, his wrist freshly bandaged, as his father shone the flashlight into his eyes whilst simultaneously trying to keep a watchful eye on Jesse, Amanda still having not returned to the room. 

"Your pupils are reacting just fine – I doubt very much that there's a concussion. You probably just gave it a good knock."

Steve smiled wryly, "You call yourself a doctor? _I _could have told you that!"

Mark smiled in response, relieved that his son wasn't too badly injured. 

Steve, having decided that he had played patient long enough stood from the chair and moved to Jesse's side, crouching down and placing one hand tentatively on his shoulder. He observed him for a moment, determined that he would do whatever it took to get him to the hospital and the care he so desperately needed, then stood again. 

"Right then. Where's Amanda?" Steve squinted into the dark recesses of the room looking for Amanda's slender form but failed to spot her. 

"She left a few minutes ago" Mark said with a sigh, "I think she needed a few minutes on her own."

"I'll go find her." Steve stood still for a moment, trying to observe the slight movement of Jesse's chest as he inhaled before being satisfied enough to leave his side.

Treading carefully through the dark Steve made his way through first to the kitchen – which he found empty, and then along the dark corridor listening for any sounds of life from within the gloom-filled rooms. 

A faint saint alerted him to Amanda's presence. Pushing open the door to the bathroom he was just able to make out Amanda perched on the edge of the bathtub, her face cradled in her hands. 

"Amanda?" Steve wasn't quite sure why, but he found himself whispering. Even so Amanda jerked her head up in surprise.

"Steve?" Oh… I, I didn't see you come in." She fumbled clumsily with a tissue that was screwed up in her palm, wiping at her face with it and distinctly avoiding Steve's gaze. She then spoke suddenly, 

"What is it? Is Jesse ok?" She jumped to her feet but was restrained by Steve's outstretched arm. 

"He's ok. Well, not ok but… You know what I mean."

"Oh" Amanda visibly sagged.

Steve stepped forwards and pulled Amanda into a hug, encircling his arms around her shoulders and pulling her head so it rested on her chest. She didn't resist and they stood this way for a moment before she drew back. 

"What was that for?" She said, a small smile playing at her lips. 

Steve shrugged one shoulder, slightly embarrassed at his physical demonstrativeness. "You looked like you needed it." _Which is true, _thought Steve, although he himself had appreciated the warmth and affection which had exuded from Amanda back to himself, boosting his lagging spirit and energy. Then, 

"Come on we're going to need you help." Steve briefly explained the use of the radio and his plan to move Jesse, an intention which was swiftly followed by Amanda's concerns which echoed Mark's almost to the word.

"Jesse's condition is unstable at best Steve, I don't know if we can move him and…" She had been going to add '_expect him to survive', but her throat had dried at the words, preventing them from escaping her lips. _

"Amanda, if we wait here it's the same as accepting that Jesse is going to die, and I'm not willing to do that, are you?"

Amanda looked like she had been slapped – the words stung and she opened her mouth wordlessly. Steve waited silently for a response. 

"No. I didn't mean… it's just..." She sighed heavily and looked down at the floor as she spoke her next words. "I can't bear the thought of losing him Steve, and no matter how bad things are here… well, we don't know what's going to happen if we take him out there…" She lapsed into silence as Steve took in her words. It struck him as a measure of how bad Jesse's condition was that Amanda, and to think of it, his father, would prefer to remain in the darkened house than risk the journey outside. _But we don't have a choice he thought, __if we stay here he's as good as dead anyway._

They walked in silence back to the living room where they found Mark crouched over Jesse, listening attentively to his chest with his stethoscope. 

"Dad?"

"The pneumothorax has deteriorated. His lung is filling up with fluid. Unless we do something about it he's going to drown in his own blood."

Steve stared at him. _Jesse, floating face down into the blood, drowning._

"No" 

Steve didn't realise he had spoken aloud until Mark turned his questioning gaze upon him. 

"You have to do something."

"Steve, I don't have any of the equipment, nothing's sterile, I can't…"

"You can!" Steve interjected angrily. He refused to hear it. "Whatever you need to do, you _can do it, and you will. Do you hear me?!"_

Mark stared at Steve, almost jealous of his naivety of what exactly it was he was demanding should be done. 

"Steve…"

"No Dad. No excuses… Please…" He was begging, pleading with his father to do what he could not. To save Jesse's life. 

Mark stared at his son, then turned his eyes to Jesse. He knew that without the procedure Jesse would die, and soon. But the thought of trying to perform it with makeshift equipment in the current conditions was alarming. 

"Ok, I'll try, but…"

"No buts Dad, let's just get it done."


	14. Relieving the tension

With help, Steve lifted Jesse from the floor and into the kitchen where he was laid carefully onto the kitchen table and position flat on his back, remaining unconscious throughout. Mark meanwhile busied himself, collecting together an odd looking assortment of cooking appliances which would take the place of the sterilised surgical instruments he was used too, murmuring to himself as he went. 

_You've done it before, you can do it again. _

It was true, Mark had performed the same procedure once before, and in similarly dreadful circumstances. Amanda had been injured after a serial bomber had targeted the hospital – he had performed an aspiration to relieve the pressure in her lung. And now he would do the same for Jesse. 

Surveying the different blades, the dressings and the syringe that he had laid out across the worktop Mark took a deep breath, 

"I'm ready."

Amanda's face was drawn. She knew what was coming and feared it. 

Steve stood back, watching. 

Mark stood above Jesse and with a slight tremor to his hands he pulled away what remained of Jesse's blood stained shirt, exposing his taut white skin. He bowed forwards and gently probed, feeling for the area he needed. 

"The second intercostal space…" he muttered to himself. 

"What?" Steve addressed Amanda in hushed tones. 

"He's looking for the space between the second and third rib… Mark, what are you using in place of the French gauge canula?"

"I'm using a short-bore needle – I doubt I can achieve the necessary depth but I'll go as deep as I can." Holding the small paring knife over Jesse's cold skin he faltered before pressing the knife down and watching it tearing through the soft flesh, multiple rivulets of blood seeping immediately from the fresh wound. Despite his earlier uncertainty Mark found that his professionalism returned to him as soon as the procedure was underway. Deftly increasing the depth of the incision Mark replaced the knife onto the worktop and picked up the syringe, positioning it above the cut before inserting it to the hilt. Carefully retracting the plunger he was dismayed to find that a froth of blood tinged air immediately filled the syringe, bubbling maniacally. He drew the plunger back to the full 50ml capacity before removing the syringe and emptying the bloody secretion into a waiting basin. 

Steve and Amanda stood and watched as Mark extracted the syringe, satisfied that he had correctly located the pleural cavity. Lifting the length of tubing from the table Mark held it above the incision, his hand hovering. Using a hollowed out electrical wire had been nothing short of a spark of genius, although if able to, the now defunct toaster would probably not agree. Steve and Amanda had looked on perplexed as Mark had ripped the plug from the wall and proceeded to hack off a length of wire. His intentions had only come to light when the inner wires had been painstakingly unthreaded from the outer plastic cable leaving a perfectly hollowed out tube which now formed a stable drain which could be inserted as a fairly satisfactory chest tube. 

As gently as he could Mark pushed the tube through the incision into the pleural cavity, forcing it in against the resistance of the divided muscle tissue. Once it was in place he taped it securely to Jesse's flesh and stood back to inspect his handiwork. True, it was nothing compared to a proper chest tube but as long as it functioned adequately he was satisfied. 

Mark knew that what he had managed to achieve would afford Jesse some temporary relief from his ongoing struggle to breath, but that without hospital attention in the very near future the whole ordeal would have been for nothing. He was however, deeply thankful that Jesse had mercifully remained unconscious during what Mark knew would have been an agonising experience.

Breaking the tense silence, Mark finally spoke. "I've done what I can. I took off at least 2 litres – that should ease up the pressure on the lungs enough to keep his breathing regular…" _but I don't know for how long _Mark added to himself, not wanting to wipe the look of relief from his son's face quite so soon. 

"Steve, he's as stable as he's going to be – we have to move him soon or…" _Damn!_ Mark hadn't meant to let that _'or' _to slip out. Hoping neither Steve nor Amanda had noticed the slip he spoke again quickly, "The car has to be moved." He said with a forced air of nonchalance. 

To Steve however his father's momentary uncertainty was obvious. _Jesse's going to be ok._ Those few words had become somewhat of a mantra since the evening had taken such an unexpected turn, but he repeated it to himself again, refusing to accept anything to the contrary. 

"Uh, what do you mean 'we have to move the car' – what car?"

"Jesse's car – its blocking the drive, we won't be able to get through."

"Damn." Steve cursed. He had completely forgotten about the car. "I'll go and move it." He stood and made as if to leave the room but disturbingly found that he swayed ever so slightly on his feet as a ripple of dizziness distorted his vision. He reached out and steadied himself on the back of the armchair.

"Steve?"

"I'm ok Dad, just… just a bit dizzy. I'll go and move the car…"

"I'll do it." Amanda stood, she was still wringing her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists. "You shouldn't be using that wrist, and you're obviously still dizzy…"

Steve immediately began to protest, but Amanda was having none of it.

"Steve, just sit down. You need to rest, I need to do something… will you _please _sit down!"

Steve glared at her for a moment, before a wry smile crept on his face and he dutifully sat back down. 

"Happy now?" he said drolly.

"Very" she replied, smirking back at him as she strode past purposefully and was engulfed by the darkness leaving Mark, despite his intense worries, smiling wryly at his brooding son. 


	15. In the dark

Amanda lifted her jacket from the coat rack and slipped it on before opening the front door. She considered for a moment taking an umbrella to shield her from the rain, but after earlier seeing Mark's abandoned umbrella being blown in circles round and round the forecourt she decided against it. 

Opening the front door she found that the force of the wind literally wrenched it from her hands and slammed it out against the railings before it came rebounding back towards her. She leapt back in surprise, narrowly avoiding being knocked off her feet by the force of the door. Pushing it out again it took some strength on her part to hold it from being ripped out of her grasp before she could get out of its path should it come back to hit her once again. 

Finally managing to clear herself of the door, Amanda found she had to screw up her eyes almost to the point of closing them in order to protect them from the raging winds and the violent assault of the rain. Her clothing was once again saturated before she managed even to reach the bottom of the steps, an action which took her longer than she had expected due to the obstructive oppositional impetus from the veritable gale which tore at her clothing.

Amanda found, ironically, that despite the vast amount of air which was being propelled fiercely around her that she found it hard to breathe, the much needed oxygen being ripped past her open mouth before she was able to inhale deeply enough. 

Dipping her head as low to her chest as she could and still remain upright Amanda ploughed onwards towards the driveway, the faint beam of Jesse's headlights mercifully casting a path of illumination guiding the route she had to follow. 

The ground was slick and Amanda proceeded carefully, unsure of her footing in such appalling conditions. The distance, although comparatively short, seemed to take an age to cross, Amanda's thoughts invariably pulling her mind back to the Sloan's living room, to where Jesse lay insentient, injured. 

_Dying Amanda thought. _

_How much longer? She wondered, _how much longer can his body hold out before…_ Her mind cut her thoughts short. She didn't want to think about it. Jesse was such a good friend to her – __he delivered my baby for god's sake! She thought vehemently. _He can't die, I won't let him!_ _

Feeling a new flame of emotion surging through her veins Amanda sped up, reaching the car and pulling the car door open, before stopping dead. A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her and she turned away from the car and retched dryly, resting her hands on her knees and taking deep breaths to try and ease the revulsion which violated her senses. It was a moment before she stood again and was able to turn back to face the car. 

The interior light was still on. The weak, orange-tinted glow cast shadows across the leather interior where dark red streaks of viscous blood stained the silvery leather. Amanda wasn't unaccustomed to seeing blood, she was, after all, a pathologist and medical examiner, and had come across crime scenes in which copious amounts of blood had been spilled. But this was different. This was Jesse's blood. She stood for a moment, unable to tear her eyes from the darkening blood stains, the coppery scent of the blood almost overwhelming. 

_I can't do this she thought, staring as if mesmerised by the car's awful secret. _I can't get in that car_. _

The mere thought of having to get into the car, to sit where Jesse had as he had struggled to reach help, all the time bleeding, suffering, consumed with pain, the thought was enough to bring the acrid rise of bile back into her throat. 

Another minute passed. Amanda stood in the torrential rain, her clothing hanging heavily from her flesh, her hair clinging to her face. She could not move, her mind was numb. A tremendous crash of thunder shattered the sky above her, snapping her from her stupor. _I can't just stand here, Jesse needs me. _

She made as if to enter the car, but stopped again, unable to bring herself closer. Cursing herself Amanda ran her hands through her hair and drew a shaky breath. She turned instead towards the rear of the car and hitched open the trunk. The inside content was a testament to Jesse. Other than the spare tire was a small first aid kit, a change of clothes and a few bags of chips and various snack foods. Jesse was, after all, renowned for his fondness of eating. Amanda smiled fondly at what she was and reached for the folded blanket which lay on top of the tire. She slammed down the trunk and made her way back round to the driver's side of the car. Laying the already dampening blanket over the blood stains she steadied herself before easing herself into the seat, immensely aware that she was now sitting atop the seat where Jesse had lain in such desperate need of help for god knew how long. 

The keys were still in the ignition, and Amanda turned them, expectant of the engine rumbling into life. She was disconcerted however to hear a half-hearted guttural moan shudder from the vehicle before it ground in to silence. 

"Oh come on!" Amanda said, pure frustration oozing from her words. 

She turned the keys again, but nothing more than a choking noise was emitted form the car. __

_Leaving the lights must have drained the battery Amanda thought to herself, cursing under her breath. _

She turned the keys over and over again, but each time the effort to spark into life became weaker and weaker. 

"_Arghhh!!!" Amanda screamed in frustration._

"Why is nothing working!" She bellowed slamming her palm down onto the steering wheel. The car however, remained obstinately silent and her hand now flushed with heat from the force of the impact. 

"Damn it." She said, shaking her hand in pain and flexing her fingers. She took in a deep, trembling breath. 

"Okay," she said in a whisper, directly addressing the car. "You _are _going to work, do you hear me?" The metallic tang of the blood was so strong she could almost taste it. Gripping the key, she held it for a moment without moving. Then as if in an attempt to surprise the car, she turned it rapidly and was awarded with the healthy reverberation of the engine. 

"Oh thank god." She said breathily, and shifting the car into gear she began edging it forwards up the drive, pressing her foot the accelerator for fear of the engine cutting out before she was able to clear it of the drive. 

Rounding into the drive, the engine did indeed begin to splutter again, but the car was well clear of the driveway as it slowly puttered to a halt. Switching off the engine she flung open the door and clambered from the car, relieved to be out of the confined malignant atmosphere. Taking as deep a breath as she could muster in the wind-torn forecourt Amanda tried to shake herself of the sensation of being tainted which had settled on her from the moment she had opened the car door and witnessed the macabre spectacle which lay inside.  

Despite the dim illumination the car headlights had cast when she had first left the house, Amanda noticed that without them the darkness now appeared endless. Amanda peered all around her, trying to make out what forms the different shades of darkness indicated, and finally locating what she thought was the house she stepped forwards carefully, arms outstretched to feel for the railing of the steps she expected to feel at any moment. 

Set back in the dark bushes he stood and watched. He had been out here for some time now – he had lost track of the exact length of time. But it was long enough for his eyes to have become accustomed to the pitch blackness and his skin to no longer feel the biting cold. He could see her, not clearly, but well enough to know that she was lost in the darkness, fumbling forwards and grasping blindly for the railings. She was going in the wrong direction; away from the house, coming slowly towards his hiding place. He grinned malevolently as he watched her stumble, dropping to one knee and thrusting out a hand to prevent a complete fall. He took a step forwards out of the cover of the shrubbery, a few more steps and he could reach out and touch her. He stretched out one hand as she stood and wiped her hands onto the fabric of her sodden trousers. Extending his fingers he found he could almost feel the warmth emanating from her body. 

_Maybe… But no.  He wasn't here for her. He was here for the other one, the young blonde-haired man. He was the one he wanted. He pulled back his hand and stepped carefully backwards. Watching her as she turned slowly on the spot, trying again to find the direction of the house, cursing under her breath at not bringing a torch, her voice being carried in the wind directly to his ears. A sneer contorted his thin face, pulling at the scratch marks that had been gauged into his flesh earlier that evening, and he snorted with a derisory laugh_

He was going to enjoy this. 

Amanda cursed under her breath. _Why didn't I bring a torch? She asked herself. After turning on the spot for a moment she managed to determine that the house was in the opposite direction to that which she had been heading. Arms still outstretched she made her way towards the house, and was just ascending the steps when a sound was whipped past her ears by the wind. She froze, concentrating with all her might on the noise. It had sounded like a laugh. Holding on to the railings she turned her head and peered onto the forecourt. Her eyes, although beginning to become accustomed to the gloom, were unable to make out anything in the impenetrable darkness and all she saw was a sheet of black nothingness before turning back into the house and pulling the door closed behind her._


	16. Consternation

Steve sat stonily in silence, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Amanda' return. Mark bustled around him, mumbling underneath his breath so quietly that only snatches of his private monologue were audible. 

"blankets… a bag for the chest drain…" and so he went, flicking the torch here and there as he gathered together whatever it was he thought necessary to move Jesse. 

After what seemed an eternity Steve heard the front door slam shut, and a moment later Amanda emerged from the gloomy hallway, dripping wet, a strange expression creasing her features as she glanced over her shoulder back towards the front door.

Steve stood, and looked at Amanda expectantly. 

"Well?"

His voice seemed to snap her from her reverie and she turned back to face him. 

"I moved it. The engine didn't want to start but I cleared it of the drive so we can… get out…" her voice trailed off as she turned her head back towards the hall again, frowning. 

"Good. We have to move soon…" Mark responded distractedly. He was still flitting about the room, seemingly unable to remain still for any perceivable amount of time. 

"Amanda? What is it?" Steve, unlike his father, had noticed that Amanda was unmistakably troubled by something. 

"I… I don't know, but… I swear I heard… something from outside…" 

"What was it?" Steve asked, although his attention had now been dragged back to his father who was again examining Jesse in preparation for the journey which lay ahead. Amanda too seemed momentarily absorbed in Mark's actions, although she did eventually answer the question, albeit half-heartedly. 

"I don't know… it kind of sounded like someone laughing…" She said it sheepishly, it did, after all, sound ridiculous, but Steve looked unconcerned. She wondered for a moment if he had heard her, but decided not to press the issue, instead reassuring herself that Mark's seeming disinterest and Steve's lack of concern upheld her personal belief that it had merely been her troubled mind playing tricks on her. _It can't have been laughter – I'd have never heard it above the rain and wind. Satisfied, although not quite contented, with her own reassurances Amanda again returned her full attention to Jesse, who's pallid features seem to have somehow become more hollow in the time it had taken her to move his beloved sports car. His drawn face contracted in pain even in the apparent deep state of unconsciousness which had settled upon him like an all-encompassing shroud of somnolence. _

"Right," Mark said, pushing himself up with the aid of the couch before brushing his hands together. "Lets get going." Grim determination was set in his features, a sign of his poorly concealed anxiety.

After taking a deep, reasserting breath he launched into what was an amazingly well planned outline of what he intended to happen in the ensuing few minutes, his mind for detail remarkable, particularly taking into account the grim state of affairs which would almost certainly confound the minds of most people. 

"Steve, you're going to have to do the driving. I need Amanda in the back with me and Jesse – he's going to need as much medical support as we can give him. I know your wrist will be a problem," he interjected hastily, pre-empting any objections from Steve which, in all honesty were not forthcoming. Steve had expected as much, his lack of medical expertise rendered his presence almost irrelevant. 

"But" Mark continued, "Once we're on the main road you just need to keep the steering steady until we get to the rendezvous point. You can manage that." It was more of a statement than a question. Mark was relying on Steve to carry out the comparably easy task of driving the car, it was really all he was able to do and Steve was determined not to fail in his one capacity to help Jesse. With a nod from Steve Mark continued. 

"We have to move Jesse to the car as smoothly and quickly as we can. Any jarring movements will aggravate the wound. Steve, we'll take your jeep, there's more room in the back. Amanda, once we're moving I'm relying on you to monitor Jesse's breathing. I'll watch his pulse rate and keep check on the bleeding. Ok?" Mark looked on expectantly, waiting for any questions or concerns about his plan. After a moments silence it was obvious that no flaws or objections were going to be presented and Mark clapped his hands together.

"Lets do it."

**************

Hi everyone, sorry this is short – I do have another bit which is almost ready, I just need to proof read it! I'll try and post it tomorrow. Hope you're still enjoying the story, 

Sarah J 


	17. Reprehension

Meanwhile, outside, a man stood. He slid his hands over the door as though caressing the tender skin of a lover. He could see so clearly. Everything was crisp, almost transparent to him. It was obvious now; so unlike his earlier confusion, his anger. It had driven him for so long, fermenting beneath the surface of his skin, propelling him onwards, but all the time blinding him to reality. He had felt so inadequate, all those times when his relationships had failed, when he had lost his jobs, when he had wound up in court. But he could see now, it wasn't his fault, not his fault at all. 

_Its__ them. _

_Their faults._

_They make me look bad, they made me do all those things. If it wasn't for them, with their morals and stuck-up ideas of being superior there wouldn't be a problem. _

_Its__ them._

But he wasn't angry. Not anymore. Because things had become clear. He wasn't inadequate. He was normal, and all that was standing in his way of leading the perfect life was one thing. 

The other driver.

They had never met before, but he was to blame. He was the only one who could ruin his new-found clarity. He was the only flaw on the horizon, the one who could destroy his plans. 

_He'll tell._

It had been his fault after all. The damage to the front bumper of his car, being delayed on the road. His anger had erupted in a tidal wave of rage and he couldn't help himself. The other driver had made him do it. He had asked for it. 

He had left him at the side of the road, the knife clenched in an unbreakable grasp, knuckles white. He had surprised himself, the force of his punches, the feeling of his unmerciful blows as they had pummel the smaller man. He had felt a power like never before.

_I could rule the world. _

And then the knife. It seemed to have come from nowhere, and driving it into the soft, yielding flesh… For the first time he felt like he had done something remarkable, something sensational that would demand respect.

_With power like that they should worship me._

 Driving away from the scene of his masterpiece had been a struggle. Leaving the man sprawled in the dirt, the growing stain of redness seeping like an inkblot in water, was truly a sight to behold. 

_My creation._

But others wouldn't have understood it. He knew that. And so he had had to leave, content in the knowledge that others would find the body, that there would be wonder in the sight he had created. He had driven nearly the length of the road when the flashing lights caught his eye.

_No!_

The police? Already? Surely they didn't know. They couldn't. They wouldn't dare spoil his magnum opus! In his fright he had swerved the car off the road, smashing into the road-side crash barrier. 

Scrambling from the car he had been overcome in panic, steam billowed from the bonnet being swept up into the stormy atmosphere, and he knew that any moment a throng of cops would descend on him. He found he couldn't move, numb with fear. With baited breath he waited, watching the lights continue to flash alarmingly. But nothing happened. After a few minutes his muscles began to relax and he inched forwards. A large barrier had blocked the road, orange flashing lights twirling a warning into the dark air. There were no police there. 

An unequivocal sense of relief flooded his veins. And in that split second he knew that he had to go back. To make sure. To be certain that he was dead.

_Because if he's not then he'll tell.__ He'll tell them and they'll come for me._

_But that won't happen because he'll be dead. I'll make sure of it. _

And so he had returned. Walking along the dark road, no lights, no sounds but the waves crashing against the shore and the violent roar of the wind. It soothed his nerves. Comforted him. Nature was a kindred spirit – violent, unpredictable, volatile. It made him feel whole. 

He had lost track of time, the coldness clawed at his skin and he found it almost unbelievable that the day had been a hot one. Eventually he came to the bend in the road that alerted him to the scene. A smile crept onto his lips as he rounded the corner, expectant. Waiting. 

The empty road felt like a knife to his heart. 

_He had gone._

And so he had searched, deep tracks had been cut into the sodden earth where the sports car had once stood. He had followed them until they reached the road, where the dirt trail had been washed away by the constant deluge of rain. But he knew which direction to walk, and he had come across the driveway. He heard it first. A horn blearing through the night. His worry was quashed instantly when he saw the red car. A smile broke his features causing a sting of pain to flare across his cheek and he savoured the discomfort. As he approached he could make out a form slumped across the steering wheel, the pressure causing the horn to continue resounding through the drive. Fingering the knife which was stowed in his pocket he knew that this time he would not leave anything to chance. The knife would do its job and he would be certain that there would be no one left to threaten his plans. Closer and closer he advanced on the car, his chest burning with repressed excitement, every fibre tingling with anticipation. 

A sudden noise ahead of him shook him from his enrapture. Squinting through the torrential rain he noticed a house at the end of the driveway, the door had just been flung open and a man was running towards the car. Frozen to the spot he was torn as to what to do. The yearning to continue onwards with his mission was overwhelming, he was _so close! _

_Just a few more steps and I could do it. I could finish him…_

But there was no way the other man wouldn't see him, he would, in fact, be seen at any moment unless he didn't retreat into the darkened confines of the heavily planted driveway, as the man's presence became more imminent. 

With a grunt of fury he stepped backwards, moving away from the car, away from what he so desperately wanted. Scrambling into the bushes he felt the sharp twigs scratching abrasively at the bare skin of his arms. Blood pounded through his veins, burning at the back of his eyes and distorting his vision. The rage he had felt earlier in the day returned with a vengeance and he felt an ache-like hunger for the man, the cause of all his problems - his prey. 

But now he was forced to stand and watch as the man dared to interfere, to spoil what he had created.

_Maybe… But I would have to kill him too…  _

He battled with himself. Should he? Two people. It was more than he wanted…

_Two people.__ No one would know…_

"STEVE!"

Eyes open wide with fear he fell back into the bushes, the thorned plant tearing at his legs through his jeans as the man called in the direction of the door, his voice being carried through the air away from the house. 

_No. No. NO!! _

_There are more people here._

_Damn it!_

The man faltered for a moment and then ran back in the direction of the house.

Now was his chance. While the man was gone he could do it. He could kill him now and they would never know that he had failed the first time.

_Yes._

Struggling to stand created a problem however, and the battle to extricate himself from the clutches of the triffid-like plant resulted in a heavy fall into the swamp-like dirt taking precious seconds of his time. Scrambling to his feet he ran to the car, heaving for breath. But he was too late. The man had reappeared in the distance, followed by a younger man and a woman. 

_Too many people._

Fear now mingled with the rage which pounded through his body. 

_They can't catch me. I won't let them…_

 He turned and ran, down the drive, away from all those people who were this very moment destroying what he had created so perfectly. 

And when he had finally built up the courage to return they had gone. The car stood empty, the ghastly orange glow illuminating a pool of blood staining the interior.

But he had waited. Patiently he had waited and then she had come out of the house. The woman, on her own, and the temptation to pounce there and then had been overwhelming. 

_Patience.___

He had to control himself, it would do no good to be caught now.

Once she had gone he had made his way up to the house, and it was there that he stood, pressing his face onto the door, listening intently for signs of life within.

Waiting for his time to come. 


	18. Menace

Steve paced the living room. His headache had increased and a steady pounding beat out its rhythm against the inside of his skull. He didn't mention anything to his dad or Amanda, partly to avoid being the cause of any further worry, but also as he felt an irrational need to prove himself as useful. Amanda and Mark had been tending to Jesse for hours and after his father's harsh words had confirmed the nagging doubts which always played on his conscience he felt somewhat dispensable, and though he was loathe to admit it, it was hurtful. 

_Don't be so stupid. Steve scolded himself silently. __Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking of Jesse._

Steve turned his eyes to Jesse, and his feelings of self-loathing increased ten-fold. He had never seen someone he cared about so much in such poor condition. Jesse was a mere shadow of his former self. Gaunt and pale, with a disturbingly haunted expression tormenting his face. 

Steve wondered in passing what, if anything, was going on in Jesse's unconscious thoughts, but pulled his mind away from the appalling images his own mind cast up, shuddering at the evanescent imagery. 

Steve absent-mindedly ran one hand over his face and dropped down into the armchair. His eyes felt gritty with tiredness and his whole body seemed to flush with fatigue. He stretched out his weary muscles but felt little relief from doing so.

"Steve?" Amanda, perceptible as always, had been watching Steve since Mark's decision to leave, "Are you ok?" It was an empty question really. None of them were ok and Amanda knew it.

Steve smiled wearily at Amanda, thankful for her concern but at the same time trying to alleviate any disquiet she might feel for him. There was too much to worry about already. 

"I'm not doing too bad. Just… worried, you know?"

She knew. 

"We'd better get moving." Mark had returned to the room clutching his medical bag in one hand and a large torch in the other. It cast a heavy fluorescent radiance which after the hours of comparative darkness was dazzling to the eyes. 

Steve threw one hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, a ghost of the light remaining in his vision. 

"Steve, are you able to carry Jesse outside?"

"Yes" Without hesitation Steve responded. He hadn't really even given the question any thought but  he was determined not to create any obstacles. In truth he was fairly certain he shouldn't be entrusted with carrying Jesse out to the car. His wrist, despite the heavy bandaging throbbed hotly, and his head pulsed with pain. Neither of the others were strong enough however, and the movement had to be as smooth as possible. Steve knew he was the obvious choice, but his injuries did shed some doubt in his mind about his abilities. 

Steve stood, perturbed to find his legs shook ever so slightly, but he ignored it, trying to reassure himself that it was insignificant. Dropping into a crouching position next to Jesse he paused, taking in the sight of his friend who only that afternoon had bounded around so cheerfully and full of life, boasting the health benefits of some obscure salad he intended to install as a regular feature on the menu of Barbecue Bob's. 

_Oh God. _

Steve felt ill. No matter how long he worked with the police he couldn't even begin to understand how someone could act so violently and inhumanely. And Jesse was so innocent – he spent his life trying to help people. It was incomprehensible that anyone could want to hurt him. 

"Hey Jess," he whispered, gently sliding one hand underneath Jesse's head, "We're gonna get you out of here, ok?" There was no response, not that he had truly been expecting one. 

"Dad, can you help me?" Steve slipped his arm underneath Jesse's legs, positioning his hand so that it extended far enough so that no pressure would be placed on his injured wrist. Mark set his bag down and rested the torch onto the coffee table. He moved around the couch to help. 

With a grunt of effort Steve pulled Jesse up off the floor, his legs shook with the exertion and he thought for one terrible moment that he was going to fall. Jutting one leg out to maintain his balance Steve felt his whole body tremble as his muscles were forced to work both to hold Jesse and sustain his own equilibrium. Breathing heavily Steve felt beads of perspiration pooling on his temples. 

Mark's face was one of concern as he watched Steve struggle, he jerked his arm out to steady Steve but found that he had managed to restore his balance enough to take a first tentative step.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief Steve continued onwards heading into the dark away from the gloom of the candlelight, Amanda following close by, a taut expression on her face. She looked on dismayed at Jesse's arms and legs hanging limply in Steve's arms, his state such that he remained unconscious and insensate throughout. 

Mark paused for a moment, taking a heavy breath. He felt tired beyond belief yet knew he couldn't relax, his worry now divided between both Jesse and Steve. 

_Jesse's condition is deteriorating. Steve is hurt…_

Mark rubbed at his eyes wondering to himself how things could get much worse, completely unaware of the man who had just climbed in through one of the bedroom windows. Sighing, Mark picked up the torch and made his way through the hall and out into the continuing storm.

**************

The open window had pleased him greatly. He hadn't expected it to be that easy, but there, plain as day, the window stood open. He had climbed in with only minimal difficulty; the window was not particularly high and he was fairly tall. 

Inside the house was dark and he was thankful to be sheltered from the rain. He found himself in a bedroom, it was comfortably furnished and he sat down onto the corner of the double bed to take the weight off his feet. They were aching after the prolonged period he had spent standing and his toes were numb with cold. 

He didn't stay sitting for long, the anticipation of what was to come was such that he couldn't conceive of wasting precious time in such a way. 

He had decided – he would kill the others if necessary.

_If I have to do it, I'll do it… I'll kill them all._

A crooked smiled twisted his face. Nothing could stop him now. 

Opening the door the slightest of gaps he poked his head out and listened for any noises. There was nothing. Whilst this pleased him, he also found it confusing.

_Perhaps they're asleep. They won't know what's hit them…_

He grinned malevolently.

_But what if they're not asleep? Why are they being so quiet?_

He frowned and pulled open the door a little wider, paranoid as to what was going on in the rest of the house. He listened intently, but again heard nothing. 

Deciding that there was nothing for it he pulled the door open fully and stepped out into the hallway. For a moment he didn't dare breathe, certain that he would be heard and that the group of people would find him before he had a chance to find them. Patiently he stood, listening, waiting. No sounds emanated from within other than his own shallow breathing. 

After finally deciding that it was safe he began to creep forwards, edging through the house, sliding his fingers along the wall feeling his sense of power increasing with every step until he felt it oozing from every pore. He passed several doors, his heart almost stopping as he passed each, half expecting someone from within to pounce on him at any moment. But as he passed the final door his breathing became heavier as he felt adrenaline surging through his veins. 

_This is it._

He stopped at the corner, only the wall hiding his presence from the group of people. Clutching the knife in his hand he braced himself, and taking a deep breath he leapt forwards, knife held high, ready to strike. 

The room was empty. 

"NO!" It wasn't until he heard his voice that he realised he had spoken aloud. 

"God damn it!" 

_How can they not be here? I saw them, I heard them! Where are they?_

He turned on the spot, searching the room for signs of life even though he knew that he was the only one there.

_Maybe… maybe they're in another room... Yes, that's it._

_But then they must have heard me!_

Gripping the knife in his hand he stalked through the living room to the one adjacent. It was the kitchen, and it was empty. 

"No!" he threw the knife to the floor and slammed his fist into the wall and felt pain flare through his hand. 

"God damn it, NO!" 

He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. Fists clenched.

_How dare they spoil my plans!_

A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, although none of them registered. It was as though his ability to understand had been paralysed and he stared numbly ahead at the tiled floor. The knife he had dropped littered the otherwise tidy floor and he reached forwards, taking the blade into his palm. The sharp metal pierced his skin, cutting through his flesh with ease. A small trail of blood trickled through his clenched fingers and he gazed at it as though spellbound.

_It should be his blood, not mine._

_He has to die…_

_They all do_


	19. Meltdown

With some difficulty Steve made it outside to the car. The rain continued to pound everything within it's reach, but the earth seemed to have reached saturation point and what had been random pools of water had now merged to create the impression of a huge lake filling the forecourt. 

Steve found that if he stood for too long in any one position his feet were drawn into the mud and pulling them free occasioned an unearthly squelching sound. 

Amanda was amazed to see the change outside after only such a short time. Beads of rain rebounded back from the surface of the puddles so fiercely it appeared as though the rain was actually coming upwards. The mud clung to her feet as if desperate to prevent her departure and she struggled to pull them free from the cloying mire. 

"Amanda? Can you open the door?" Steve had to shout above the roaring wind but Amanda heard him first time and she rushed forwards as fast as the viscous mud would allow and pulled open the jeep door. 

The interior light sprang into life as soon as the door was opened and Steve wondered for a moment how he would be able to lay Jesse into the car without aggravating the wound which persisted in bleeding. Mark however, again came to the rescue as he directed Steve and Amanda in moving Jesse onto the backseat of the car which involved Steve gently lowering Jesse's legs to the ground and then sitting himself onto the backseat and gently pulling Jesse in with him. 

Amanda helped to support Jesse's legs whilst Mark stood back directing their movements like some highly choreographed dance act.  

For the first time Steve was truly thankful for the spacious car he had, knowing it would allow his father and Amanda to tend Jesse relatively easily whilst he drove. 

Laying Jesse flat out on the backseat Steve slid his arms out from underneath his frail body, a swell of pain surging through his wrist as it was knocked out of the straight position he had been endeavouring to keep it in.

He stared down at the arm which had been underneath Jesse's upper back. His shirt, soaked through by the rain, was stained red where the deluge had washed the blood from the sodden bandaging and onto his arm. 

It was blood. 

_Jesse's blood_

Again a wave of nausea washed over him and he rubbed vigorously to try and remove the stain. He felt tainted, contaminated.

"Steve? Are you alright." Mark and Amanda watched on as Steve reeled from the car and fell to his knees on the opposite side to where they were standing. He stood quickly but dropped his hands to his knees again so he was bent double as he retched dryly. 

"Steve?" Mark had hastened to his son's side, his concern clear form his tone, and rested one hand on one of his broad shoulders. 

Steve stood abruptly, furious with himself for his irrational behaviour and jerked himself away from his father's comforting touch. 

"I'm alright." He knew he was acting foolishly but he felt a sudden overwhelming claustrophobia and he desperately needed to get away from his father and Amanda, from the rain and from Jesse. 

Steve stood upright and deliberately refused to make eye contact with his dad who he knew was surveying him questioningly. Instead he looked everywhere but at Mark and Amanda, and in particular kept his eyes away from Jesse, all the time feeling increasingly enraged at himself for his lack of control. 

"Where's your bag?"

The question came out of the blue but did in fact draw Mark's attention to the absence of his medical bag.

"What? I must have left it in the house…"

"I'll get it." Steve departed immediately without waiting for a response.

"Steve?" Mark called after the form of his retreating son.

"I'll be back in a minute." Steve bellowed by way of acknowledgement. He stalked towards the house, muttering underneath his breath, brow furrowed and head down, and was swallowed by the darkness.

Mark watched Steve until he had disappeared then turned back to the jeep where Amanda too stood staring at the spot where Steve had just vanished. She shrugged at him, bewildered, and after a brief glance back in the direction of the house Mark turned his attention back to Jesse. 

Steve trudged back up to the house, each droplet of rain biting into his flesh like a sharp needle. But Steve barely felt it, his mind consumed by angry rantings at himself and the world. 

_So stupid! What the hell were you thinking?_

The pain in his head had increased ten-fold and his skull felt as though it would implode at any moment. 

_Selfish idiot!_

Steve took the steps two at a time, disregarding the slick surface and it was only by the grace of God that he managed to remain upright, his feet sliding unpredictably over the treacherously wet wood. He pushed open the door and entered the house, his face stinging from a combination of the cold and the piercing rain. Breathing heavily Steve slammed his good hand into the wall, cursing himself as now both hands flushed with pain. He turned around and leant his back against the wall, sliding down until he sat with his knees up against his chest. Still heaving for breath, primarily from the emotional agitation he was experiencing but now compounded by the pain with seemed to fill his entire body, Steve rested his head forwards onto his knees.

_Just for a minute. _

He inhaled shakily, trying to calm his worn nerves, and closed his eyes as the cool darkness enveloped him in its vacuous embrace.

Hi! Another short chapter I'm afraid – but my mind has been elsewhere. Got my exam results yesterday! They were good so I can stop worrying now J !!   I'll try and get the chapters a bit longer. Thanks for all your reviews, 

Sarah. 


	20. Intrusion

Mark and Amanda sat in the back of the jeep, staring silently ahead, their thoughts travelling a similar, well-worn path of despairing negativity. A few minutes had passed since Steve's departure and neither had uttered a word since, each lost in their own musings. 

Jesse felt as though he was submerged in a deep ocean. Sounds permeated his unconsciousness but they were muffled and indistinct. He struggled to make out their meaning but the effort made his head hurt. He wanted so desperately to open his eyes, to see that he wasn't alone. To have someone hold his hand and tell him he was going to be all right.  He wanted something, _anything but the empty void which he seemed to be descending into with no visible way of escaping. He fought against the dark abyss which had engulfed him, and battled upwards through the ocean of blackness. After what seemed like an eternity he finally broke the surface, struggling to reach the brink of consciousness. _

It was a faint whimper which alerted them to Jesse return to consciousness. The dim light of the car shed just enough luminescence for Mark to make out the slight flickering of Jesse's eyelids, his lashes fluttering across his cheeks before his eyes opened the scarcest of measures. 

"Jesse?" Mark dropped to his knees and titled his face towards Jesse's. 

Another whimper.

"Jesse, it's Amanda, can you hear me?" she spoke quietly in a manner that reminded Mark of the hushed tones used by visitors to his terminally ill patients at the hospital. The implications of this added to the heavy weight of worry which had settled in his chest since the beginning of the evening, even before they had discovered Jesse in such a terrible condition. 

"Jess? If you can hear, squeeze my hand…" Mark took Jesse's hand in his, shocked at how cold and lifeless it felt. His mind was dragged back to earlier in the evening when Jesse had lay on the floor, not breathing, no pulse…   

_If we hadn't been there he would be dead by now…_

A sickening thought entered Mark's head, one that had occurred to him earlier but had been pushed out of his mind through sheer necessity. 

_What if he was without oxygen for too long? What if…_

"Jesse? Please, if you can hea.." he stopped mid sentence as the mildest of constraints squeezed at his fingers. A smile of pure relief broke out on his face as he surveyed his ailing friend. 

"Mark…" the voice was barely audible, almost ethereal. Jesse tried to focus his eyes to the people in front of him, but the effort of blinking was tiring, and no matter how hard he tried they remained blurred at the edges. 

_He can talk – he knows who I am… these paltry facts reassured Mark like he wouldn't have believed possible. _

"Jess, its ok honey, we're getting you out of here." Amanda stroked Jesse's hand gently and smiled at him sorrowfully. 

Her words made little sense to Jesse, who was having trouble understanding where he was. He peered up at her, confused.

"What… hap.. happened?" he spoke with a rasp, as though out of breath. He knew something was wrong – terribly wrong – and yet he couldn't quite understand what had happened to him. He knew he was hurt – the pain which pervaded every fibre of his being told him that much, as did the heavy weight in his chest which prevented him taking the deep breath he felt his lungs were crying out for.  But exactly what had transpired remained just beyond his grasp, lurking in the recesses of his mind but refusing to come to the foremost of his consciousness. 

"Don't worry about that now, you just… Jesse?" Mark watched as Jesse's eyelashes fluttered to a close. 

"Jess?"

Although Jesse heard them he was incapable of responding. 

The meagre amount of energy he had had been washed away in a tidal wave of exhaustion, and as the fight to keep his eyes open became too much to bear, the weight of his eyelids forced them closed. As the stupor overcame him, the images of his friends' concerned faces gave way to an ebony cloud of unconsciousness as he blacked out. 

Mark retained his grip on Jesse's hand. He felt the need for a connection, and although the link was tenuous he felt the warmth from his hand seeping into Jesse's and it satiated his despondent need to do something constructive. 

Mark squeezed his eyes closed. 

_We really need to leave, he thought to himself, __before its too late…_

He sighed deeply

"Where's Steve?"

**************

Steve sat, head down, unmoving. The cool, dry air of the hallway was a welcome contrast to the hot humidity of the living room and the unrelenting rain of outside. It soothed him somewhat, cooling him down both literally and figuratively. His head continued to drum in a rhythmic beat, although the nausea which accompanied it had abated somewhat and his breathing had slowed considerably. 

The agitation of earlier had dissipated and had been replaced by an extreme sense of shame. Steve felt disgusted with himself for his melodramatic overreaction. 

_The others are coping and so should I… _

Steve knew that every moment he spent fretting over his own problems was time taken away from Jesse. Time that he needed.

Lifting his head, he rested it back against the wall. 

_Get a grip Sloan, he thought to himself scathingly, and bracing himself for the effort he dropped his right hand to the floor to lever himself up. _

But in mid-action he stopped. 

Just along the hallway something stained the wooden flooring. Steve peered at it, unable at first to make out its form. He frowned, turning his head to one side to try and decipher the shape. 

It was a footprint.

A wet, muddy footprint glistening in the half-light which radiated from the living room. 

Steve stared at it and felt a heavy jolt in his stomach. 

_A boot print._

_None of us are wearing boots…_

The realisation clenched roughly in his chest. 

_There's someone in the house.  _


	21. Showdown

Steve's immediate reaction was to claw himself up from the floor. His legs were shaking in an unbalanced tremor but he dismissed it, his mind focused on the whereabouts of the intruder. One hand went automatically to his hip, feeling for the familiar solidness of his ever-present gun. It wasn't there. 

_Damn it!_

Steve wracked his mind trying to recall where his gun could be. He was careful with it; always was, but the pounding in his head made thinking with any semblance of clarity difficult. 

_Where did I put it?_

Steve ran one hand through his sodden hair, an electric-like needle of pain shimmering through his head as he brushed against the point which had impacted hardest with the ground. 

_Where did I put the gun?_

Steve had never felt so vulnerable. In most situations he perceived himself as a strong, protecting force. And now he was injured, unarmed; defenceless. 

_Where the hell is the gun!?_

He scoured his mind, trying urgently to retrace his steps of the day, but the evening's events and his head injury made what was should have been a simple task of memory a remarkably difficult chore. 

_I parked the car and came into the house. Dad wasn't home yet… I started dinner… The kitchen!_

The kitchen!

He'd left his gun in the kitchen. The drawer next to the sink – he'd been making dinner.

He had to get to the kitchen. 

Steve stared for a moment at the footprint. It was pointing in the direction of the living room. He took a step and found that the dizziness he had felt since his fall had not lessened by any discernible degree. Leaning heavily onto the wall he took another step forwards, taking only shallow breaths and walking as gently as his shaky legs would allow for fear of being heard. 

With any luck he could make it to the kitchen and his precious gun before the intruder heard him. 

Or found him.  

Sure enough he found that a second footprint followed the first, and a third after that. The intruder had left a trail. 

Like the forecourt outside, the house now appeared strange, unfamiliar. In the dark every door hid untold threats, and every corner secreted hidden menace. Steve felt like an alien in his own home; an overwhelming sense of foreboding sent a current of ice shivering down his spine. 

_Where is he?_

Steve took another step. He was nearing the entrance to the living room now, where only moments earlier everyone had been planning the escape; oblivious to the threat which had now, only by chance, presented itself. 

He turned his back to the wall, unsure of how to progress. Any normal situation, if there was such a thing, would have seen him pouncing forwards, gun in hand, bursting brazenly into the room where he would hope to catch the suspect unawares. But standing in the twilight of the hallway, hands empty… 

Deciding that there was no way out of the situation Steve took in a deep, determined breath and slowly edged himself around the wall, hoping that the inky surroundings would hide his presence long enough for him to catch the intruder unexpectedly. 

Holding his breath Steve stepped into the living room, his mind spinning as he searched his mind as to what in the room would make a suitable weapon. His eyes sought frantically for any signs of movement, but there was none. The room was completely empty. 

His breath caught in the back of his throat. 

The soft flickering of the candles offered only the pretence of light, and the shadows which fell carelessly in all directions appeared to jump out at him. Steve half expected to be set upon at any moment; his heart pulsed so violently that he felt as though he would choke. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed however, and the tightness of apprehension binding his chest eased slightly. 

Stepping further into the room Steve was conscious to keep his back towards the wall, not wanting to leave himself open to attack if the intruder should come up from behind him. 

It was impossible to make out the footprints in this room. Steve himself had ventured out into the rain more than once, as had Mark and Amanda. The flooring was a mass of smeared mud, rain and blood, and no perceptible distinction could be made between their own prints and that of the unknown menace. 

_Where did he go?_

The air in the room was suffocating, hot. Steve wondered fleetingly why candlelight connoted romance to so many of the women he had dated – he found it oppressively stifling, and after the events of the evening thought that he would never be able to sit through a candlelit dinner again. 

Steve crept forwards, nearing the kitchen. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, and the drumming of his heart in his chest. 

And then he slipped. 

Catching his foot on the side of a bookshelf Steve stumbled forwards and threw out one hand to steady himself, knocking a frame from the unit as he did so. He watched it as it fell to the floor, eyes open wide. It was as though it happened in slow motion but he was powerless to do anything to stop it. It hit with a clatter that broke the crushing silence, and Steve froze, positive that there was no way it couldn't have been heard. Not daring to move Steve focused his hearing, listening out for the slightest of noises…

The noise pulled him from his reverie. It had come from inside the house – somewhere nearby. He turned his head sharply to one side, then the other. Listening. He could detect nothing. And yet he knew he had heard it.

_They're playing with me…_

He smiled. It was like a game. Cat and mouse. He was the hunter and they were the prey. He liked games. They made life interesting. 

The knife was still clenched in one hand. He released his grip slowly and took the handle into the other hand, ready for use. Blood stained the silver blade red; it looked right –, _as it should be…_

He dropped one hand to the floor and pushed himself up, leaving a clear imprint of his bloody palm on the clean tiles. 

He was ready. 

Steve could hear nothing. He didn't want to move, but all sense was telling him that if he didn't go now he would be caught before he had a chance to arm himself. The intruder would have heard him and would have the upper hand.

_Go now… the voice in his head shouted at him, but his body refused to move. _

_GO!_

Steve ran the last few steps to the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. Silhouetted against the brief beam of light that had managed to break through the blanket of storm clouds for the first time that evening, Steve could see a man. Tall, gaunt. He didn't move, his face shrouded in darkness. But in his hand a knife, the lustrous metal glinting dangerously in the moonlight, an ominous substance drip, drip, dripping to the floor. 

They faced each other.

Neither moved. 

And then he pounced. 


	22. Rage

Knife raised high in the air he emitted a primal scream unlike anything Steve had ever heard before. It was a sickening howl of pure hatred, his face contorted into a scowl of contemptuous loathing. Steve stood, staring in complete shock at the sight in front of him – not a second had passed since he had entered the kitchen. With no warning whatsoever the man had lunged forwards, savagely slashing the knife into the air, screaming with every step. 

Steve managed to dodge to his left just as the man reached him, the knife nicking into his shirt; it's steely sharp blade tearing through the soft cotton easily. 

He stumbled, the rapid movement throwing him off balance, but righted himself quickly, just in time to again side-step the thrust of the knife. Steve lurched forwards into the central work-top and groped for anything that would come to hand. Finding an empty glass Steve seized it and spun around with the intention of defending himself in any way he could. The man was directly behind him. Steve was unable to dodge the blade this time and it pierced his skin, a white hot pain searing through the side of his neck where the sharp metal dug into his flesh.

Steve swung his arm forwards the glass in his hand contacting with the man's head where it shattered into a thousand pieces. 

The man stumbled backwards slightly, but balanced himself easily. Many streaks of blood ran down one side of his face in rivulets, but he ignored them completely and charged forwards again with the knife.

The man raised the blade again, the ear-splitting scream reverberating through Steve's head, sending the pounding headache to increasingly unbearable levels. 

In the split second he had to make a decision as to what to do to avoid the knife Steve ducked his head round to one side, a flash of silver slicing the air in the space his head had just occupied. He balled one fist and thrust it as hard as he could into the man's gut. The result was a grotesque grunt which finally put an end to the crazed screaming. The man double over, the knife still clasped in one hand, his mouth open wide and his face creased in pain. 

Steve took his chance and dodged around the man, grasping at the drawer handle which held his much desired gun. He dropped his hand into the dark interior, unable to see his weapon so forced to grope around blindly for it. His fingers brushed against the cool metal and he seized it triumphantly, pulling it from the drawer and turning to aim it at the intruder. 

He was knocked to the floor with no warning, his legs being pulled from beneath him roughly. He fell heavily, his head knocking against the kitchen units and an explosion of pain bursting through his already throbbing head. Small pearls of light danced through his vision, and the dark room blackened further, blurring at the edges and threatening to disappear completely. 

The pain was immense. Steve felt himself slipping into unconsciousness as the injury-induced drowsiness washed over him.

_No… the small voice in his head admonished him._

_Wake up or you're dead…_

Steve tried to rouse himself, to pull himself from the empty oblivion. He could feel pressure on his lower legs as the man clambered on top of him.

"No…" Steve mumbled, tried to force his eyes open as the man sat astride him, pinning him to the ground. 

"Get off me…" He pushed with one hand and felt a bolt of pain crackle through his wrist, eliciting a groan of pain. 

The man above him snickered, and bent his head low.

"Are you ready?" He spoke in barely a whisper, his breath hot on Steve's face. "Are you ready to die?"

Something inside Steve snapped. 

A volcano of simmering rage had been bubbling through his stomach all evening, and even the slightest provocation was now enough to incite a violent eruption of boiling hatred through his veins. 

A rush of adrenaline cleared both his vision and his thoughts, and the gun which was still clenched in one hand seemed to burn its presence into his flesh. 

He could see the knife, raised high in the air above his head. 

Steve pulled his arm from the floor and pressed the gun into the man's chest.

The man drew back, the whiteness of his wide eyes appearing glow in the darkness, an arrogant sneer still plastered onto his contemptuous face. 

Steve could feel his heart hammering so hard against his ribs he thought his chest might burst, an intensity of anger that could only be fuelled by the pure hatred he felt towards the abomination who still pinned him to his father's kitchen floor.

For a moment they both hung in unmoving silence. 

The sound of gunfire shattered the air. The man atop Steve was sent reeling backward by the sheer force of the point blank shot as it penetrated his body, his grasp on the knife finally being broken as it skittered across the floor. 

Gun still in hand Steve scooted backwards on his elbows trying to distance himself from the man. He scrambled to his feet and stood. 

The man was motionless, a dark stain of red blood seeping through his shirt, visible even in the darkness. Steve stared at him, breathing heavily, his arm outstretched, gun trained on the inert figure. So intent was he on watching for the slightest of movements which may indicate that the man was returning to consciousness that he barely took any notice as the strip lighting above him buzzed back into life; a fluorescent glow illuminating the kitchen. 

As the renewed radiance finally took his attention, Steve blinked and gazed absent-mindedly around the kitchen. His surroundings looked strange – almost unreal. Everything was too bright.

Steve turned his face back to the man and took in his appearance properly for the first time. He was thin; impressing the image of a man who had lost a considerable amount of weight in a short space of time. His wet hair glued messily to his forehead, his clothing hung loosely on his gaunt frame. On one ruddy cheek three deep cuts broke his pox-scarred skin.

For the briefest of moments Steve felt awash with remorse. 

And then the man started laughing.

A high-pitched laugh laced with insanity; it started as a titter and developed into a maniacal cackle. 

The man began writhing on the floor, rolling slowly from side to side, his laughter verging on the hysterical, so hard that he was forced to heave for breaths in between each burst of sniggering. 

_He's insane…_

"You… you… you think you've beaten me don't you?" He spoke haltingly, each word punctuated by snorting laughter; a wide grin pasted on his thin face. 

"What?" The question took Steve by complete surprise. 

"You think… that you've got me beat. Don't you?" the man continue to cavort across the kitchen floor, squirming restlessly but still giggling in an utterly deranged fashion. 

Steve was incredulous.

"You haven't you know. You… you haven't beaten me… I… I'm gonna kill you…" he trailed off, snickering hoarsely. 

Steve could only stare at the man, absolutely perplexed by the display of such lunacy. 

"I'm… I'm gonna kill you, then… then I'm gonna kill them…" he broke off once again, his eyes rolling back in his head leaving only the whites visible and adding to the crazed appearance the man was exhibiting. 

"What did you say?" Steve strode across the kitchen, a fresh wave of anger surging. He stooped down and pulled the man into a half sitting position. His head dropped back like that of a rag doll, but Steve shook him roughly. 

"What did you just say?!" he shook him again, and the man finally pulled his head up, a refreshed sneer twisting his face. 

"You…you're gonna die, and then I'll finish off the blond one."

The comprehension felt like a sharp blow to the gut. He hadn't understood before, hadn't put it together. Jesse's attack, the intruder.

It was the same man. 

Steve's mind raced with a thousand different thoughts and emotions, but of them all it was a potent sense of rage that managed to filter to the surface. 

His grip increased on the man's shirt, tightly enough to elicit a gasp of pain, and his hands literally shook with anger. 

"You." It wasn't a question, but a statement. 

The man's smile widened. 

Steve released his grip and threw the man back to the floor, his hands feeling dirtied through even touching the psychopath who had attacked Jesse so ruthlessly. 

For a moment he was incapable of speech, so consumed with disgust that he couldn't even begin to verbalise it. 

"Why?" His voice shook with emotion. 

The smile remained, but now in addition his eyes began to glint with malicious pleasure. 

"You want to know why?" He coughed. 

Steve merely stared.

"He damaged my car."

"You're car? You stabbed him because of your car!?" Steve found his breath coming faster, his head pounding almost intolerably. 

"He made… made me angry… Had to… had to be punished…. Had to show him…"

The man began to slowly edge backwards across the floor once more. Steve could see now that the gunshot wound was located over the upper right area of the man's chest, more in a position to damage his shoulder than cause any major internal injuries. And as Steve continued to watch he did indeed see that the man held the arm protectively across his lap, barely moving it. Using his one good arm to pushed himself up into a slouched sitting position against one of the kitchen unit, where he slumped ungraciously, panting somewhat from the effort and groping around on the floor, seemingly trying to maintain the ungainly position. 

For a moment each observed the other, unspeaking. 

"It was his fault you know. He… he made do it…"

Steve had heard this argument before. 

_They always blame the victim…_

"With his….his flashy car and, and his careless driving. I had to show him… to teach him a lesson… He deserved it…"

Although he spoke disjointedly, there was no disorder to his words. They were measured, his voice calm. At his last words Steve snapped. Slipping his gun into the waistband of his jeans he strode forwards and with one hand yanked the man to his feet.

As soon as he did so he felt a searing pain shoot through the forearm of his injured arm as the man slashed a knife deeply into his flesh.

Steve stumbled backwards, grimacing in pain.

"You see?! See? You can't beat me. This is my knife. _Mine_. It belongs with ME! It doesn't matter what you try and do to me. You can't stop me. No one can!" His eyes were open wider than Steve would have thought possible, positively leaping from his face. He continued to grin insanely as he continued his psychotic monologue.

"I'm gonna kill you all and you can't do anything to stop me. You can't save them… the woman? The old man? They're as good as dead. Then the blond one… I'll save him to last…" 

Without warning a tightly clenched fist collided with Steve's jaw and he felt his head spinning as he slumped downwards, only managing to remain upright by clinging onto the worktop. He blinked dazedly as he watched the man run from the room laughing hysterically, knife wielded high in the air as he disappeared from sight.


	23. Alarm

Mark held Jesse's wrist between his fingers, counting methodically the faint beat of Jesse's heart as it pulsed beneath his gentle grip. 

It was weak; weaker than it had been the last time he had taken it. 

_He's fading._

Mark lay Jesse's arm gently back down onto the seat. 

He and Amanda had sat in almost complete silence since Steve's departure, speaking only to question is return and to confirm the time. The sound of the rain as it beat down onto the car resonated hollowly, but in the past few minutes had abated slightly.  

Mark glanced down at his watch again. In truth it had only been minutes since Steve had left them, but every second that he was away grated at Mark's already frayed nerves.

We need to leave…

A sudden crack fractured the sombre atmosphere. Amanda gasped audibly, and Mark felt his body jerk in surprise. 

He whipped his head up, eyes searching for the source of the noise. 

It had been gunfire. 

"Mark?" Amanda looked at Mark questioningly, her eyes wide in inquisitive fear. 

"Stay here." Mark leant across the backseat of the car and pulled on the handle to open the door, a blast of damp air blustering into the dry interior, heavy spots of rain spraying onto the car door. 

"Mark, where are you going?" Amanda frowned, concern apparent on her face.

"Lock the doors. Stay here…" Mark peered across the dark forecourt, fear coursing through his veins. 

"But Mark…" she was cut off before she could continue. 

"Amanda, just lock the doors. Please. And keep an eye on Jesse. I'll be back in a minute. I promise." With that he slammed the door shut and began the short walk back to the house. 

Inside the car, Amanda immediately leant over to the door Mark had just departed through, and pushed the lock down into place. She then systematically checked every door, pressing down the locks which had been left open, all the time trembling violently. 

She had never thought of herself as a weak person; she shunned stereotypes of women being less capable than men and strove for independence which more often then not came easily to her. But this was different. She was only too pleased to step back and let Steve and Mark take the more active roles. 

Finding Jesse in the state he was in had been terrible. 

Turning her attention back to Jesse, Amanda found that her eyes automatically focused on the painstakingly feeble rise and fall of his chest. She tried to concentrate on the subtle movement but the sound of the gunshot seemed to echo in her head, dragging her thoughts back to the house where two of her best friends now were; knowledge of their safety and well-being hidden from her. 

Traipsing across the muddy forecourt Mark could feel his heat beating vigorously against his chest. A cold sense of dread had settled in his stomach and he felt deeply apprehensive as to what he would find upon re-entering the house. 

_Maybe it wasn't gunfire?…_

Many thoughts had raced through his mind in the seconds that had passed since the shot had been fired; a thousand 'what ifs', each more absurd and dreadful than it's predecessor. 

_It could have been thunder…_

Yet Mark knew what he had heard. He had been involved in Steve's work for many years and was only too familiar with the sound of a gun being fired. 

_Steve…_

Mark hurried his pace. The steps were slippery and his feet slid perilously over their slick wooden surface.

_Damn things!_

He made a mental note to have them ripped out and replaced with something more suitable when this was all over.

Mark pulled open the door and was greeted with an unfamiliar glare of light radiating from a room coming off the passageway. Mark squinted, the brightness seeming excessive to his eyes as he realised that the electricity must have come back on. Blinking back the tears which had immediately pooled onto his bottom eyelids Mark peered into the hall. 

Sheer instinct kept him from calling out for Steve. Something told him that he should try and keep his presence concealed for as long as he could; or at least until he had a chance to assess the situation. 

The hallway was shadowy, obscured in a half darkness that eclipsed his line of vision but was unable to hide the trail of dirty footprints which stretched along the otherwise polished wooden floor. 

Like his son a few minutes earlier, Mark felt a jolt jar heavily in his stomach. 

He looked around for a suitable weapon, and selecting an umbrella from the stand to the side of the door, Mark stepped further into the hallway and slowly pushed the door closed behind him. 

The house seemed curiously odd to Mark. Whilst everything was familiar; all of his knickknacks being in their rightful places and the house being much as he had left it. But even so it looked wrong. Almost as though he were observing the house through a mirror. 

Treading carefully, Mark walked along the hall, ears acutely trained for any sound that cared to make itself heard. He dared not walk to fast as the rubber soles of his shoes were prone to squeaking on the highly polish floor, but the slow progression allowed him to repeatedly scan the space ahead of him; seeking out any change in the composition of the shadows which might indicate movement. 

Holding the umbrella aloft Mark slowly edged his head around the wall until he was able to see into the living room – there was no one there. Luminescence radiated from the kitchen, throwing a murky light across the room that was just bright enough to pick up the dark red stain of blood that had soaked into the fabric of the couch. 

He saw and heard nothing until he was halfway across the room. A faint groaning sounded from the kitchen – a muffled grunt of distress.

To his father's ears it was obviously Steve. 

Dispensing with caution Mark strode the remaining distance until he entered the kitchen where he was shocked to discover Steve sprawled, half-sitting on the floor, a heavily bleeding wound apparent on his arm and a evident stream of blood flowing from his neck. 

"Steve?!" Mark's voice was breathy, concerned. 

"Dad? Get out of here…" Steve felt confused. His mind wasn't working properly and whilst he knew that his father's presence was cause for worry, he couldn't follow the thought pattern through as to why. 

Dropping the umbrella to the floor Mark crouched by his son's sides and immediately began assessing his wounds. 

"How did this happen? Steve?" Mark questioned his son but it was clear to him that nothing was registering as it should, and this only served to concern him further. Upon examination Mark found that the wound to Steve's left arm wasn't particularly deep but would certainly require stitches to knit the flesh back together. The gash to his neck was a mere flesh wound but it was the glassy sheen to his eyes and the mottled beginnings of bruising that worried him most. The earlier knock he had received to the head had obviously been compounded by this new damage, and Steve's evident confusion and agitation were clear signs of a significant head injury. 

"Steve? Steve can you open your eyes for me?" Mark gently lifted one of the half closed lids and watched carefully as the dilated pupil contracted sluggishly. 

"Dad, you have to get out of here, ple_ase_…"

"Steve, come on. _We have to get out of here. Now lean, that's it, lean onto me." Steve half stood and was half pulled up from the floor, the weight of his body falling heavily onto his father as he staggered to his feet. _

"You don't understand, _please! There's someone in the house…"_

"I know," Mark interrupted Steve. "I saw the footprints."

"He's crazy Dad, he's the one who attacked Jesse…" Steve trailed off as the period of lucidity passed and a fresh wave of pain surged through his cranium. 

"What?" Mark released his grip on Steve and had to grab him hastily to prevent him slipping back onto the floor. 

"He had a knife. I shot him, he just kept coming…"

Brow knitted in alarm, Mark's immediate reaction was to search his surroundings for any signs of the elusive intruder, but as had been when he had entered the building, the house was quiet and tranquil. 

For a moment there was silence as both Steve and Mark listened intently for anything which may alert them to the attacker's whereabouts. Mark could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the steady breathing of his son. 

"Come on." Mark intoned decisively, "we leaving. _Now_." Stressing the last word Mark hauled Steve into a more upright position. Hoisting one of Steve's arms over his own shoulder Mark gripped him tightly around the waist and began to manoeuvre out of the kitchen.

Sorry this has been a long time coming. I've not been so well for the past few days. This is shorter than I had hoped, but hopefully something is better than nothing (lol). I'll try and update soon, hope you enjoyed it!


	24. Spiral

A sudden particularly fierce gust of wind roared through the car, rocking it to and fro despite its considerable weight. 

Amanda pulled her thin shirt closer to her shoulders and rubbed her hands subconsciously up and down her arms, peering out of the window into the inky blackness. Her view was obscured by both the spidery web of rain and the condensation that had accumulated on the interior of the windows since Amanda had sealed herself and Jesse into the jeep. She could see nothing.

Unsure of how long it had been since Mark had left her side, Amanda cursed her delicate gold wristwatch that, whilst serving its purpose in broad daylight, proved to be entirely useless in the stifling darkness. Quite bizarrely she found herself envying Steve for his chunky watch that he had, like an enthusiastic schoolboy, proudly shown her the various features of. Water resistance, compass, and a handy little button that made the display glow in the dark. Amanda sighed. She wished _her watch had that button. _

As the duration of her friend's absence increased Amanda found her imagination relentlessly projecting one scenario after another through her mind forcing thoughts of increasingly more terrible images into her consciousness. 

"Arrrgghh!!" Amanda grunted in frustration, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes closed. Balling her hands into fists she pressed them into her eyes, trying physically to force the images from her mind.

The gentle touch of a hand on her arm startled her from her reverie and she lashed out fiercely.

"Jesse! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" A swell of remorse gripped Amanda in the stomach as she took in the panicked look of bewilderment that creased Jesse's drawn face. 

"I didn't realise it was you…" Amanda trailed off as it registered in her flustered mind that Jesse had regained consciousness.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice softened immediately, the pallid fragility of Jesse's countenance impressing itself on her gravely. 

"Mmm… cold…" Jesse found the effort of verbalising the intense chill that ached through to his bones difficult, his words coming stiltedly. He felt oddly calm, and the unwavering pain that had consumed his body earlier appeared to have dissipated into nothing. He could feel his body relaxing into a slowed state and whilst he knew that he was dying, he almost welcomed it as an end to the nightmare.

"Jess?" Amanda shook him slightly, his glazed eyes drawing into the mere semblance of focus. 

"Mmm…"

"Jesse? You're gonna be ok. Do you hear me? Jesse?" She shook him again, tears sliding down her face as she watched him struggle to remain conscious.

"Mm… 'Manda? I'm s… sorry…"

"What for?" Amanda choked, the lump in her throat catching painfully. 

"…so… sorry… tell them…"

"Jesse? Jesse?"

But he didn't respond. He had slipped back into the embrace of unconsciousness, his insentient face almost ghostly.

"Jesse? Jesse?!" Amanda shook his arm roughly, trying to elicit a response. Any response. But there was none. 

Stifling a sob Amanda ran her hands through her hair and stared around in desperation, searching for what, she didn't know. She had never felt so hopeless in all her life and despaired at what she should do. Struggling to compose herself Amanda took in several deep breaths, their calming effect barely managing to suppress the panic which was threatening to overwhelm her. 

Blinking furiously Amanda extended a trembling hand to Jesse's neck, placing two fingers onto his throat where she felt for his pulse. 

For one desperate moment she thought that he had died.

Then the soft pulsation underneath her fingers made itself known and Amanda breathed with a sense of relief that went beyond anything she could have ever comprehended. 

She made the decision suddenly and determinedly. 

Reaching over the front driver's seat Amanda extended one hand to the dashboard and hooked the ring of keys into her hand.

Unlocking the door closest to the house, Amanda stepped out into the rain. She slammed the door closed behind her and locked it. For the briefest of moments hesitated.

_What if he needs me whilst I'm gone?_

_What if he…_

Dies. 

But she knew that without immediate action he would be dead before Mark and Steve returned.

If, indeed, they were going to return. 

The memory of the gunshot resonated through her head again accompanied by the terrible images of Mark and Steve.

Resolving that she had no choice, Amanda turned on her heel and ran, as fast as her legs would carry her, up to the house. 

The incessant burning pain that radiated through his shoulder was the only thing preventing him from passing out. But more than that it gave him the impetus to continue. He wasn't going to be beaten that easily. 

Running through the house he had come across another bedroom. The bed was neatly made but the room was lacking the personal touches of the other, as though it was used only occasionally. The man dropped his arm to the bed and wiped his knife across the clean fabric which soaked up the bloodstains almost greedily. 

He paused for a moment, considering his next move. 

_If the two men are in here, then the women is outside. Alone with the other one…_

He smiled to himself. 

They were almost making it too easy.

Maintaining a tight grip on Steve, Mark directed him through the kitchen and into the living room, his eyes flashing from side to side in an effort to ensure there would be no surprise attacks. 

His whole head seemed to tingle from both his heightened sense of awareness and the tautness of his muscles, and the beginnings of a headache were starting to creep into his eyes. 

"Dad."

"Come on Steve, we're nearly there."

"No, Dad I have to… to sit down… please…" Before Mark had a chance to respond Steve had leant one hand onto the armchair and began lowering himself into it.

"Steve…" 

"Just for a minute, just a minute…" Steve leant his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. 

Mark had been going to explain that their exit was urgent – there was no time to sit. But seeing the anguish on Steve's face he wavered, scrutinising first his son then the dimly lit hallway. As long as they remained in the house Mark doubted their safety. 

A loud crash caused Mark to physically jump. He whipped his head around, eyes open wide. A cold gust of wind told Mark that the front door had been opened. He searched for the umbrella but found that it was no longer within his sights. He scoured the room for anything that might come to hand, determined to protect himself and his injured son, who appeared to be struggling to stand. 

Before he could lay his hands on anything a figure appeared in the doorway. Soaked to the skin and panting for breath. 

"Amanda?!"

His thoughts immediately turned to Jesse, and his stomach churned. 

"What's happened? Jesse..?"

"He's still… he's ok. But we have to leave." The absolute desperation in her voice spoke volumes, and even in his confused state Steve had also managed to comprehend what had been left unspoken. 

Leaning on only one hand Steve endeavoured to push himself up, but struggled to achieve anything more than shifting forward slightly in his seat. 

Amanda looked on bewildered by the change in Steve's demeanour, disheartened to see the obvious signs of blood and bruising.

"What happened?"

"He was attacked – the man's still in the house – we have to get out of here"

Amanda took in what Mark was saying as best she could, frowning in confusion. Despite the lack of detail a wave of panic washed over her. 

"There's someone in the house?" her voice was barely more than a whisper, her mind instantly dragged back to the laughter she had heard outside earlier.

"Help me with Steve." 

"I can manage." Steve appeared to have regained some of his fight, and immediately went to shrug off Mark's attempts to help him, a look of pure indignation on his face. 

With a stern glare from Mark however, he soon submitted to help, his easy concession a sign of his weakened state, and together they began again to make their way from the house. 


	25. Faceoff

The window in the second bedroom had been higher than the one in the first. He clambered through it clumsily and fell heavily to the floor below. 

For a moment he was winded. Pain seeped through his body and he curled his knees up to meet his chest. Mouth open and eyes screwed up against both the pain and the wind, he rocked back and forth gently until the pain began to ease. 

Clawing himself to his feet he hunched over for a moment, hands on knees, breathing deeply. Then, straightening up, he began to walk. 

The undergrowth at the side of the house had a slightly wild look to it – as though it hadn't been trimmed back for some time – and caught his feet as he stepped, tripping awkwardly. 

Turning to the front of the house he saw the car. It was illuminated from within, glowing like a beacon in the darkness as he approached it. 

He advanced on the car slowly; resisting the urge to run, to achieve what he desired that much quicker. But every extra second was that much more to savour. 

_Keep hidden, He thought to himself_

_Don't ruin the surprise…_

He smiled. 

Games were so much fun.

Edging forwards he crouched low to the ground, letting the darkness cloak his approach.

When he was in within reach of the car he lifted his head to look within the car. He gasped.

The woman had gone, leaving the blond man on his own. 

Eyes wide, he was incredulous. 

_Could this be real? _

Could they really have made it this easy for him? Maybe it was a trap_. _

_Maybe, he thought, _Maybe they're waiting to jump me as soon as I open the door…__

He turned on the spot, squinting into the darkness, determined that if they were waiting for him he would see them first and not be taken unawares. But the darkness had not yet broken and he couldn't see. 

After a moment he could fight the urge no longer and he progressed to the car.

_So what if they are waiting for me. I could take them all…_

Despite his self-assurances he peered intermittently over his shoulder, a twitch of nervousness clenching in the pit of his gut. 

He extended one shaking hand and traced his fingers lovingly over the window; the trail of his fingers leaving a clear path on the dripping window that was immediately filled by the spidery web of raindrops. 

The excitement he felt was almost palpable and he ran his hand lower until it found a resting place on the door handle. He closed his eyes, relishing the moment that had finally arrived in pure unadulterated ecstasy. 

Gripping the handle he hesitated for a moment, enjoying the knowledge of what was to come, then finally, he pulled. 

Nothing happened. 

He pulled again. 

The door was locked. 

"NO!" He roared, unable to control the absolute frustration he felt at this new development. 

"God damn it! NO!!!" He pulled on the handle again and again, managing only to rock the car from side to side. 

His outburst was carried on the wind, dispersed into the atmosphere, completely unheard by the insentient Jesse who was sealed safely in the car, so close but out of reach of the man who had attacked him. 

In his temper, the man placed two hands onto the car window and head-butted it frenziedly, whether in an attempt to smash the glass or merely through the totality of the defeat he was feeling, he was unsure. 

The action served only to reopen the wounds on his forehead that Steve had inflicted earlier and small rivulets of blood began to seep down his face. 

Breathing heavily he peered in through the window at the small man and a small glint of hope flickered in his mind. 

He could detect no movement.

None whatsoever. 

A small smile played at his lips. 

_Could it be? Could it be that he's already dead?_

It surely couldn't be that simple. That he had died already?

But there were no perceptible movements; not even the merest of actions were discernible. He was motionless, his chest failed to rise and fall, his eyelids were still, lips blue. 

_He's dead._

The euphoria was immense.

_Now to finish the rest…_

Entering the hallway a cold blast of air met Steve full on. The chill managed what nothing thus far had, succeeding to rouse his senses to a level that enabled him to comprehend what was going on around him. 

"Amanda?!" He snap, suddenly and harshly.

Amanda turned her head sharply to face Steve, stopping in her tracks.

"What? What is it?" she said, her voice at a slightly higher pitch than was the norm. 

"Where's Jesse?" he looked at her with a strange expression on his face.  

"He's… he's in the car," Amanda frowned back at Steve, unsure of what he was getting at. 

"You left him alone?!" Amanda had no doubt about the accusation in his voice this time.

"I… I had to… you left. Both of you. I didn't know…" she was cut short by Steve. 

"How could you leave him alone?! There's a complete psycho wandering about?!" His anger was apparent and left Amanda stunned. 

"I… I didn't know. When you didn't come back, then Mark left… What was I supposed to do?!" Her voiced broke with emotion as she yelled back at Steve, a deep sense of doubt creeping into her consciousness to join her immediate reaction of indignation. 

Steve made to continue his tirade, but was stopped by Mark. 

"Stop it. The pair of you." His voice carried the harsh authority of a parent and stopped both Amanda and Steve in their tracks.

"There's no point throwing accusations at each other. We need to get out of here right _now, so lets leave the arguments to later shall we?"_

He was right of course. 

Amanda and Steve eyed each other warily, each still angry with the other but embarrassed at the rightful telling-off they had both received. 

Steve was first to break the uneasy silence. 

"Sorry… we'd better go, yeah?" he ran a hand wearily over his face, and gave a lopsided smile. Amanda forced a smile back, the action feeling alien to the muscles in her face; the evening she had just experienced leaving her little to smile about. 

Heading the group, Mark led the others along the hallway at a somewhat hurried pace, his mind whirring through all of the things that could still go wrong. 

What he saw next hadn't even entered his mind. 

Standing at the bottom of the steps was a man. His gaunt body silhouetted by the scarcest ray of light that heralded the morning sunrise; illuminating not new hope, but renewed threat.

Mark threw out one arm to prevent Steve and Amanda progressing any further; Steve stumbled at the sudden hindrance, but Amanda emitted a gasp when she saw the cause for Mark's actions.  

Haggard but set in determination, a man stood blocking their path. Dripping with water, his face hidden in the dying shadows, he postured his body in such a way that it left nothing about his intentions to the imagination. Arms dropped to his sides, one hand moved in a subtle clenching motion that highlighted the large blade clenched in one fist, glinting ominously. 

Silence lingered for a tense moment. 

"He's dead you know…" The voice came in a low rasp, quite unlike the high-pitched cackle Steve had encountered earlier, heavy with menace and tainted with spite. 

"I came back to finish him, but time had done it for me." He smiled, clearly delighted by his own words. 

Amanda staggered forwards into Mark, who gripped her tightly.

Steve felt bile rising in the back of his throat, sickened to his very core. A battled immediately commenced in his mind; despair in its purest form and an enraged wrath fought for prominence.

The man sighed. 

"He doesn't matter anymore… nothing does. Only you… All three of you. You're all that matter. But not for long."

He took a step forwards so that his face was no longer hidden. A smile played on his lips. 

"Now… who's first?"

Author's note: Just a quick word to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed and that I hope you're still enjoying the story!

Sarah


	26. Confrontation

Mark, Amanda and Steve didn't move. Each was absorbed in their own reaction to both the pure insanity they had just been witness to and the ghastly news that had been delivered to them in such an appalling way. 

Amanda found herself shaking involuntarily, a bone-tingling tremor that shook her entire body. She felt as though a fist had penetrated her chest and had wrapped its icy fingers around her heart as a blanket of cold dread settle over her. 

Mark stared blindly forwards. He felt as though he was drowning in a sea of shock and despair, his surroundings blurred as he was submerged by a tidal wave of emotions. Looking directly at the man yet not seeing him. His vision had faded and his ears rang with a deafening silence. His mind was paralysed on one thought and one thought alone. _Jesse's dead. Dying with no one there to comfort him; alone and scared. Dead…_

Steve looked on as the man sauntered up the steps. He moved slowly, but the arrogance of his swagger was not lost on Steve whose eyes flickered down to the length of steel clenched in the man's fist. Steve could feel his heart pounding in his head, and his chest tightened painfully. Unlike Amanda and Mark, Steve's response to the man's cruel declaration was one of ardent disbelief and an anger that was quickly fermenting into burning fury. 

"You're lying." Steve's voice shook, but was strong with conviction. 

The man simply smiled in response and continued his way up the stairs, drawing closer with each step.

"Tell me you're lying." An air of desperation had edged into Steve's voice as he watched on, still incapable of spurring his body into action.

The man merely laughed and continued onwards. Without any warning whatsoever he swiped into the air with the knife, striking at Amanda who gasped and stumbled backwards. The knife hadn't touched her but had come close enough to diffuse the cool air and impress the coldness of the blade onto her skin. 

Startled by the sudden immediacy of the man's violent behaviour Steve was finally sparked into action. At once he extended a hand and wrenched Amanda backwards, out of the immediate reach of the man whose face had twisted into a snarl of absolute loathing then back to the visage of good humour in an instant.  

"Oh, come _on! Why play games? You know what's going to happen, so why delay it? I mean, it's not like I really mind because this is __fun!" He took a step closer, emphasising his words with emphatic gestures of the knife, his eyes bulging derangedly.  _

"Tell you what, I'll give you a five second head-start. Fair is fair after all." He spoke as though offering a generous compromise. 

Steve felt Amanda tense in his grasp, but he held her firmly. 

"We're… we're not going anywhere." Mark spoke for the first time. His voice was hoarse, as though the words were sticking painfully in his throat, and despite the fierce pounding of his heart against his ribs he maintained a steady countenance. 

"You… you're never going to get away with this. You know that don't you?" Steve noted that his father's voice had taken on a tone of professionalism and he watched carefully as the man eyed Mark as if sizing him up, searching for a sign of threat although there was none. 

"Why don't you just give yourself up? If you hurt any of us you'll just make things worse for yourself…" Mark continued. 

"Oh yeah?" The man snapped bitingly, "I bet you're really concerned about my wellbeing aren't you?" The sarcasm dripped from his voice and he took another step forwards, the knife directed threateningly at Mark's chest. 

"No. No I'm not. I honestly don't care what happens to you. I just don't want anyone else to get hurt." He locked eyes with the man and maintained contact, almost as if trying to stare down a wild animal. 

"You know what?" The man extended the knife closer to Mark, who didn't move. Steve felt Amanda take a sharp intake of breath but slowly the man lowered the knife.

"You're bluntness is actually quite refreshing. The world could do with more people like you – think about it. No more wondering what other people are thinking, I mean, does she think I'm a mind reader or something?! God damn bitch!!" His face had flipped again to pure insanity as he went into a sudden frenzied tirade. He stamped his foot down and punched his hand repeatedly into the door before stopping abruptly and taking a few heavy breaths. 

"Now, where was I?" The reversal of his character was startling. His tone no longer angry but rather genial and pleasant. 

"Right, right. I was about to say what a shame it was. Me having to kill you. You seem a nice guy and all. But… you gotta do what you gotta do." He finished with a coy smile and raised the knife again, sharply pitching forward and seizing Mark by the shirt. Mark gasped as he was twisted around and the knife was pushed up to his throat. The man pressed the blade into his skin just hard enough to impress the razor-like sharpness of the blade onto Mark's mind, but not enough so to penetrate the skin. 

Steve felt his gut lurch and he grabbed clumsily at the gun nestled in his belt as the scene in front of him unfolded. His slowed reactions however prevented a response swift enough to be effective and the man simply sneered at his fumbling and forced the knife more firmly into Mark's throat, compelling Mark to pull his head back to prevent the metal blade from piercing his flesh. 

With trembling hands Steve trained the gun unsteadily at the man. His heart pounded deafeningly in his ears and the sound of Amanda's gasps were drowned out by the rushing of his blood through his veins. For a moment all he could see was the sight of his father being held by the man who had killed his best friend. 

An ugly smirk was plastered across his face as he slid the knife tauntingly back and forth only millimetres away from the skin, feigning the actions that would slit Mark's throat and leaving no doubt in Steve's mind that he had no qualms in doing so.  

A look of sheer panic radiated from every pore of Mark's face; every trace of colour had been drained from his skin which had taken on a waxy pallor and his eyes seemed to leap from their sockets, the whites glowing in the half-darkness and his gaze fixed on Steve, pleading. 

A minute sound penetrated his thoughts and he tore his eyes away from his father's face and noticed for the first time that the man's lips were moving. 

"…should have listened. You should understand by now – what do you think you're going to do with that gun? _You can't stop me. I've already won. He's _dead_. Dead! Do you understand that? I killed him, and now you're the only ones standing in my way!" His voice had a maniacal tone and he giggled hysterically, his body convulsing as he laughed, the knife shifting precariously in his hand nicking into Mark's flesh causing him to wince as several trickles of blood ran down his neck. _

Steve gripped the gun tighter, aiming it at the man's head and squinting as he tried to ward off the blurring that repeatedly crept into his vision. 

"Put it down" the giggling stopped instantly, his voice severe and unrelenting. 

"Now, or I'll kill him." He pressed the knife yet further into Mark's neck eliciting a gasp of pain that was followed by an intensified flow of blood. 

For a split moment of indecision Steve wrestled with his head and his heart. His mind told him that failing to lower the gun would provoke the man into an act that would with no doubt result in his father's death. His heart told him that if he lowered the gun he would lose what would probably be his only opportunity to take out the lunatic who was hell-bent on killing them all. 

Releasing the gun with one hand Steve lifted one palm as if trying to placate the man. 

"Okay, okay… I'll lower the gun, just… just put down the knife, ok? Let him go…"

The man didn't move, a sneer twisting his gaunt features. 

"Maybe you don't understand me. You ain't in no position to bargain pal. Now, put that god damn gun down or I'll slit his throat. That clear enough for you?" he jeered. 

Steve didn't move, keeping the gun trained on the man, his mind raced, trying to decide what he should do for the best.

"If I put this gun down what's to stop you from killing him hey? Tell me that?"

The man smiled. 

"Nothing"

Steve gave a slight nod by way of response, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He turned his eyes back to his father, staring deep into his eyes, trying desperately to read his expression – to communicate a plan of action. 

A slight flicker in Mark's eyes caught Steve's attention. He frowned, trying to decipher its meaning. Mark turned his eyes again leaving no doubt that he was trying to impart a message to Steve who desperately tried to understand him. 

The reaction did not go unnoticed by the man. A voice whispered in his head, _They're__ plotting, they're plotting against you..._

It was instinct. He turned his head to see what it was the one with the gun was looking at, and in that instant the old man hit him. 

It wasn't a particularly hard blow, but it caught him off guard. He dropped the arm with the knife and stumbled backward trying to regain his balance. 

Steve was just as taken aback as the intruder was by Mark's actions, but the ingenuity of his plan was immediately evident to Steve who grasped the gun again with both hands, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. 

The first bullet hit its target and the man was sent reeling backwards, a grunt of pain erupting from his lips as he fell into the door. Steve pulled the trigger again, a second bullet hit the man square in the chest and he stumbled back out of the door, plunging down the stairs and falling into a writhing heap on the muddy floor. 

Steve strode forwards after the man fell out of sight, determined to finish what he had started. He raised the gun again and aimed it at the man's contorting form, squeezing the trigger and watching as he convulsed as the bullet hit him. Steve went to pull the trigger again but found his arm being pushed to one side so the bullet misfired, spiralling away into the emptiness of courtyard and being swallowed by the ever diminishing darkness. 

Steve turned his head sharply to the source of the interruption and was shocked to find his father's face staring at him imploringly. 

"No. Steve, no." He rested one hand onto Steve's arm.  

A surge of anger flared in Steve at his father's interference. 

"What?" He spat in disbelief. How could his father be protecting the man who had attacked, _murdered, Jesse?_

"That's enough." Mark's voice was sombre; that of a man drained of all spirit. 

"Enough?" Steve was incredulous, "Enough? There never will be enough! Don't you understand? He **_killed _Jesse? He killed… killed him." His voice broke.**

"I… I know" Mark's voice shook, "but you're not like him. You're better than that Steve, you're better than that. So that's enough." Mark gently pushed his hand firmer down onto the grip Steve had on the gun, and after a moment Steve relented and lowered the weapon. 

"Dad…" A wave of dizziness flushed through him again and he fell forward and rested his head on his father's shoulder, broken and emptied. After a moment Steve felt Amanda slide a hand around his waist and she set her head onto his shoulder, her body quivering gently as she sobbed silently into his back. 

For a few minutes they stood, unmoving. A huddle of united torment and grief. 

Eventually Mark pulled away, he stood back and took a deep rehabilitating breath. 

"We'd better go. I don't want to… to leave Jesse alone." He ran a hand through his ruffled white hair, and turned his eyes to the forecourt outside before walking slowly through the door. 

Author's Note: Sorry there's been such a delay in posting this chapter. Real life has a nasty habit of throwing things up at the most inopportune of moments. The next chapter is also practically ready for posting, so there shouldn't be too long a wait!

Sarah 


	27. Daylight

The dawn had crept over the horizon and brought with it an end to the torrential downpour of the night. The fine mist of rain that persisted in falling peppered the morning air with a chill, but the crisp morning light promised a warmer day to come. 

Mark walked carefully down the steps, his eyes fixed on the insentient form of the man who had caused so much havoc and destruction. His unmoving form was stained red with spilled blood, and his leg was twisted at an odd angled that to Mark's trained eye instantly signified a fracture. Mark felt strangely removed from the situation, and an apathy towards the man's suffering that his caring nature was unaccustomed to. He paused above his crumpled figure, then stooped down and placed two fingers to the side of his neck feeling for a pulse. 

"Mark, what are you doing?" Amanda's voice was hoarse and told of her exhaustion. 

"He's still alive" said Mark, pushing himself to his feet. 

"So?" Steve snapped, a renewed pounding in his head reducing his tolerance to zero. 

"Just leave him there, we can send someone to collect his body later." The bitterness in his voice was palpable as he eyed the man with absolute disgust. 

"We'll take him with us."

"What?" Amanda and Steve spoke in unison.

"We can't leave him here. He'll die."

"Good! He deserves to die after what he's done!" Steve barked viciously. 

"Steve I know he deserves to be punished…"

"Punished? _Punished? He deserves to be left there to rot – to die in the cold and dirt, _alone!_" _

"No." Mark's voice sounded much harsher than he had intended. 

"No, he's not going to die. You're better than that Steve, we all are. We'll take him to the hospital and then the courts can deal with him…" Mark's voice was shaky as he continued, "He has to live so he can pay for what he's done. He's not getting out of it so easily." Mark could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he finished. 

With a defiant look at Steve and Amanda he crouched down again placed a hand under each of the man's shoulders. He hauled him up slightly and began dragging him towards the jeep, not caring that the unmannerly transit would no doubt cause a great deal of pain should the man regain consciousness. 

Stopping a few feet from the car Mark released his grip on the man, whose body fell limply to the floor. 

The jeep stood desolate in the courtyard. Bathed in the dim light that signified the end of night but was a precursor to the true onset of morning, it looked small, doleful. 

Mark found himself walking almost mechanically towards the jeep. He felt a sense of cold dread gripping at his stomach and he wanted nothing more than to avoid having to face what lay before him. His mind screamed at him to turn back to the house but his legs continued to carry him forwards, closer and closer to the car. 

Unaware of how closely his actions were mimicking those of the man who now lay bleeding at his feet, he extended a hand to the car and ran his fingers lightly over the slick surface.

_Alone. He's in there all alone…_

The gentle touch of Amanda's hand on his shoulder startled him from his reverie. She smiled at him sadly and offered the car keys to his outstretched hand. He took them and slowly opened the door. Standing back, a hollow feeling radiating through his body at the heart breaking sight of Jesse's still form laying prone across the back set of the vehicle. 

Steeling himself he ducked his head and stepped into the car, resting onto the seat opposite Jesse. 

For a moment he observed him. His skin was pale, tinged blue and almost transparent. One arm lay across his chest, his fingers curled into his fist, the other hung limply off the seat. 

Mark reached forwards and took it in his own, pained to feel how cold it was. He wrapped his fingers around Jesse's icy hand in a futile attempt to warm it, the need to do something constructive overwhelming. 

"I'm so sorry." Mark whispered. He felt as though he had lost a son. 

"You're hurt." Amanda spoke, breaking the silence that had crept over them in the past few minutes. 

"What?" Steve spoke distractedly, his eyes fixed on the jeep. From the position he stood he was unable to see inside the car, and whilst he desperately wanted to be with Jesse he couldn't bring himself to move closer. 

"Your neck… and arm. You're bleeding."

"Oh, oh… uh… yeah." He raised one hand subconsciously to his throat where the man had slashed him with the knife earlier in the kitchen. The flow of blood had already been stemmed by coagulation at the sight of the cut and the trail had dried thickly to his skin. 

"Can I take a look?" Amanda went to tilt Steve's head backward to examine the wound, but Steve jerked his head away from her touch.

"It's fine, ok? Just leave it." He snapped. 

"Ok, sorry. Can I look at your arm at least? It's still bleeding." She took his arm in her hands but was immediately shrugged off. 

"Amanda will you stop fussing! I said I'm fine, now leave me alone."  

Amanda stepped backward, obviously hurt by his outburst. 

"I was just trying to…"

"I don't care what you were trying to do. Don't you get it? _It doesn't matter._ Don't you care? Don't you care what's happened?"

"Of course I care!" Amanda bellowed. "You're not the only one upset, okay? I'm just… I mean… I don't know what to _do_!" She wrung her hands and dropped to her knees. 

"I don't know what to do." Her whispered voice broke into wracking cries and Steve felt overcome with guilt as he watched Amanda sobbing into her hands. 

Without a word he dropped to her side and wrapped his arms around her slender body, pulling her close. For a moment she was tense but she slowly relaxed into his embrace, her body trembling. 

Steve held her without saying a word, gently rocking back and forth in a soothing, swaying motion. 

He didn't know what to say. If there were words to ease the overwhelming sense of grief that Amanda felt he wished someone would say them to him too. But there were none. 

Through sheer necessity of finding some mechanism to cope by, Mark found himself flitting subconsciously into the professional manner that he normally employed on his patients. Resting Jesse's hand back onto his chest he smoothed down the blood stained shirt over the knife wound as he would before presenting the body of a patient to a loved-one; the vague thought of following procedure lurking in the recesses of his mind. 

Casting an eye over Jesse's motionless body he paused on his pale face. The lines of pain that had tortured his smooth features earlier had all but vanished, their subtle remnants leaving the faintest of creases on his skin. 

Mark absorbed this sight greedily, hoping that he could one day convince himself that Jesse had died peacefully, the pain of his injuries having left him to slip away quietly. 

He raised a hand and gently placed two fingers on the crook of Jesse's neck, the formal routine of declaring death forcing his hand in an automated, robotic fashion. Looking down at his watch he felt a sudden lurch in his stomach. 

_Could it be? Was it real?_

Mark dropped to his knees, the rough rubber matting of the jeep digging into his flesh. 

Rubbing his fingers clumsily as if to try and clear them of any lingering sensation Mark again pressed his fingers to Jesse's neck. 

He waited, shifting the position of his fingers to ensure they were properly placed. 

The faintest of pulsations fluttered at his fingertips. 

_He's alive._

The realisation hit him as readily as if he had been struck physically, knocking his breath from his body.

He inhaled jaggedly, his breath catching at the back of his throat. 

"Steve… Amanda…" His voice came out in barely a whisper, in no way loud enough to be heard by anyone but himself. 

Fumbling awkwardly to his feet Mark stood abruptly, knocking his head sharply on the roof of the jeep. Ignoring the heat that radiated through his scalp he clambered from the car.

"Steve, Amanda!" 

At the sound of his father's voice Steve pulled back from Amanda, releasing her from his strong embrace. 

The tone of his voice had again sparked a concerned reaction in his mind, and he wondered immediately what else could possibly have happened. 

"He's alive. Jesse…" With that he turned and hurried back to the vehicle, disappearing inside. 

Steve was on his feet in an instant, swaying unsteadily but ignoring his instability as he faltered towards his jeep. Amanda jumped up and followed him, her heart thudding painfully hard against her chest. 

The door to the jeep framed the scene within in an almost picturesque way. 

Mark leant over Jesse, examining him closely. 

"He's breathing, but only just. We need to get out of here now."

Steve stared, transfixed. 

"But he said…" He couldn't believe it. Jesse was alive? The man had said he was dead…

"There are no discernible chest movements, he probably just assumed… It doesn't matter now anyway. Can you drive?"

Steve found it difficult to comprehend the situation. He had been so certain Jesse was dead, but now…

"Steve? We need to leave. Can you drive or not?" Mark motioned emphatically at Steve, pointing at both his head and his wrist. 

The frantic movements seemed to snap Steve from his musings and he shook his head as if trying to clear it. 

"What? Oh, uh… yeah, yeah I can drive." Steve allowed his eyes to linger for a moment more on Jesse before he pulled himself away, almost tripping over the prone form of the man who lay sprawled in the sodden dirt. 

Steve glanced down at him and fought desperately against the urge to kick the man as he felt so strongly inclined to. 

"What are we supposed to do with him?" 

Steve glanced up to see Amanda was also eyeing the man with an expression he could interpret only as loathing, voicing what he himself had just begun to wonder. 

Mark peered down at the man, 

"He'll have to go in the passenger seat, there's no room in the back." He spoke so matter-of-factly that for a moment Steve didn't comprehend exactly what it was that he was saying. 

"What? You want to take him with us?!" Steve's renewed incredulity sparked a glimmer of annoyance in Mark who was anxious to leave and he turned on him savagely.

"For once in your life will you just do as I say without questioning me! I know what he's done but we are _not leaving him here, so put him in the car because we need to leave!" With that he turned back to the car leaving Steve standing shell-shocked in his wake. _

Steve felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his face and he looked up to see Amanda eyeing him uncertainly, a look of compassion on her face. 

Misconstruing this as pity Steve felt an instant blaze of anger towards both his father and Amanda and he glared at Amanda before turning away in disgust. 

Bending down to the man Steve gruffly grasped handfuls of his bloodied clothing. A bolt of pain detonating in his wrist as his careless action placed a stress on his damaged wrist that he would have been well to have avoided. 

Literally slinging the man back to the floor he gripped his wrist and cursed in pain and annoyance.

Gripping the man again, this time with only his right hand, he began to drag him round to the passenger side of the jeep, muttering to himself underneath his breath. 

_Blaming me… He doesn't deserve to live, should die in the dirt…_

But at the same time as he mumbled his grievances at the unfairness of the situation, the small voice in his head whispered recriminations at him, taunting him for his failures that had almost, and could still, cost his best friend his life. 

_You had the chance to stop him and you failed. He held a knife to your father's throat and you did nothing to let him do it…_

Trying to ignore the black cloud of depression that began to form around him Steve continued to haul the man through the mud, a tight-band of tension locked around his head. It increased the drumming of pain that coursed through his head in a rhythmic beat, swelling with every movement he made. 

Dropping him to the floor without a care, Steve pulled open the passenger door. He hesitated for a moment before leaning into the car and pulling open the glove compartment. Reaching inside he emerged with a pair of handcuffs, the heavy-duty metal cold after a night of stormy weather. 

With the use of only one hand available to him, Steve struggled clumsily to fix the handcuffs around the man's wrists, but achieving his aim he smiled vengefully, finally feeling that he was exacting the role he should have hours ago. 

Amanda stood back and watched as Steve struggled to force the man's body into the jeep. She knew she should help yet felt strangely reluctant to near the man. She felt oddly disoriented, as though nothing was real and that everything she knew and believed in had been turned upside-down. Although she knew it was ridiculous she wanted desperately to freeze everything that was happening as if it were a video that she could eject and dismiss as fantasy before returning to her reality. But she knew she couldn't, knew she had to interact in the activity that was playing out before her if there was any hope of bringing it to an end. 

Berating herself for her own weakness Amanda steadied herself with a deep breath before making her way over to Steve. 

The man's body was currently half-in, half-out of the jeep, his upper body prostrate across the leather seats whilst his legs hung limply to the floor. 

Without a word Amanda leant into the car and pulled the man's body into sitting position, just as Steve managed to swing his legs into the foot well. 

Steve stood, breathing rather more heavily than could be attributed to the task he had just carried out. Amanda noticed that his normally tanned face had taken on a pale, waxy tone and a green tinge played around his lips. 

"Thanks" he gasped, beads of sweat pooling on his temples. He turned and walked back towards the driver's side of the jeep, leaning heavily onto it as he went. 

Amanda knew that she should question Steve's ability to drive, but she couldn't bring herself to raise yet another complication to a situation already saturated with them. 

Silently she walked around the car and climbed into the back of the jeep to join Mark in his care of Jesse. 

Steve sat stiffly in the driver's seat. He peered into the rear-view mirror at his father and Amanda, their expressions strained. 

Turning the key in the ignition he revved the engine, and after releasing the hand-brake he accelerated slowly towards the driveway and away from the house. 


	28. Malice

The driveway was swampy with water, cloying at the tires as Steve manoeuvred the car out towards the road. The fine spray of rain dusted the windscreen with a light mist, and though incomparable to the earlier downpour Steve found it a necessity to flick the wipers on to clear his view of the path ahead. Turning out onto the road Steve felt a new wave of hope flush through his body. The sight of the slick grey asphalt glinting in the morning light served to lighten his mood and his spirits. The knowledge that they were actually escaping the confines of the house that had offered neither protection nor safety to his friends and family was an immense relief to his troubled mind. But whilst the slight relief in the tension of his taut muscles did alleviated his unease somewhat, the remission was superficial - the atmosphere in the car was charged and tense. No one spoke and the uncomfortable silence which sat between the friends was unnatural to their usually amicable banter. 

Steve gripped the steering wheel tightly with his right hand, systematically flexing his fingers to adjust his grip. Whilst his left hand was balanced lightly onto the smooth leather surface, he did not dare grip to any discernible degree for fear of increasing the burning throb that already pulsed through the injured limb. 

Steve blinked repeatedly as he stared at the road, both to soothe the tired grittiness that plagued his sore eyes, and to stave off the blurring that lingered in the periphery of his vision. He found it hard to concentrate on the road, finding the urge to flick his eyes up to look into the rear-view mirror irresistible. Jesse's image reflected back at him appearing small and feeble, the rise and fall of his chest that Steve had watched so scrupulously earlier was now imperceptible.

"Steve!" Amanda's voice startled Steve and he whipped his eyes back to the road to see that the car was veering sharply to the right. Without thinking he grabbed the wheel roughly with his left hand and jerked the car back onto a straight course. Yet again a bolt of pain splintered his wrist and he was unable to prevent a yelp of pain escaping his lips. A wave of nausea flooded his body and he swallowed shakily trying to prevent the dizzy flush that churned in his gut and his head. 

"Be more careful!" Mark barked, righting himself on the seat he had slipped from as the car had lurched so suddenly. 

"Sorry, sorry…" Steve murmured distractedly, inhaling deeply, trying to stave off the nausea that gripped his stomach. Brow furrowed he peered out to the road ahead. Although crisp, the morning light offered no real luminescence. A blanket of cloud covered the sky and an all-pervading whiteness extended a dull gloominess to the earth below. 

Steve rested his wrist gingerly onto his lap. It throbbed hotly with pain and sent flares of agony through to the very tips of his fingers. He felt an infinitesimal shudder run in waves through his body and a finger of ice weave down his spine. He couldn't remember ever having felt so sick in his life and wanted more than anything to close his eyes and rest. But he couldn't. He knew that he couldn't. Everyone was relying on him to take Jesse to safety; to the help he desperately needed. And so for now his own discomfort paled into insignificance. It had to. 

Amanda lifted her gaze momentarily from Jesse and glanced at Steve. His body was hunched forwards and his left hand rested protectively on his lap. Although she couldn't see his face clearly, his profile was tense and strained, and his skin had taken on a pale, sweaty appearance. To her trained eye he was obviously unwell, his numerous injuries being more significant than they had first realised. She considered for a moment ordering him to stop the car and taking over the driving herself. Mark was a more than competent doctor after all, and was perfectly capable of caring for Jesse, and Steve was clearly struggling. But if something should happen… she would never forgive herself if her interference were to cause further problems. Pulling her gaze away she reconciled Steve's struggles in her mind, he was tenacious and stubborn and would probably refuse any offer of help anyway. _Better to leave things as they are, she thought to herself reassuringly, scrutinising Jesse's ashen face. __It won't be long now anyway…_

Mark again placed two fingers just below the bone of Jesse's jaw to palpate the artery below. The pulsations were so minute that they could easily have been mistaken for a trick of the imagination, but despite their inconsiderable proportions their magnitude was immense. Jesse was still alive, and the degree of relief that this afforded Mark was immeasurable. 

His inability to do anything significant to help his friend disturbed him greatly. He was a doctor and a surgeon and yet his total lack of medical equipment prevented any action that could truly be considered as useful. Whilst his make-shift attempts at simulating the tools of his trade, which on reflection he realised he took for granted more than he ever knew, he could not do as much for Jesse as he knew he was capable of. Drawing his hand away from Jesse neck slowly Mark noticed the stark contrast between the pink, warm tones of his flesh to that of Jesse's cold, seemingly colourless face. It shook him slightly and he wondered momentarily how someone could live yet appear so deathly. Pulling his hand backwards and away from the disturbing image it had cast in his mind, Mark took Jesse's hand in his own and grasped it firmly. The link and subtle offer of support, though tenuous, was all he could impart for the time being. 

"You'll all die…" 

The voice was so indistinct that Steve thought for a moment that he had imagined it.

"You'll all die, and I'll see you in hell…"

An icy chill ran through Steve's body as he realised that the man besides him had regained consciousness. 

"I'll see to it you die…"

His voice was a cold rasp and the distinct image of a snake slithered into Steve's mind. 

Raw and dripping with malice it was barely a whisper, and intensifying his grip on the steering wheel Steve glanced up at the mirror to see if anyone else had registered it. Amanda however, appeared to be locked in a world of her own, her face void of any discernible emotion, and his father sat gripping Jesse's hand, his face determinedly focused on the motionless face of their injured friend. Noting their obvious unawareness of the hate-filled monologue that now resounded in his ears, Steve tried to focus his attention on the road that lay ahead. 

A shudder of chafing breathing pervaded the otherwise intense silence, and Steve glimpsed sideways to take in the appearance of the man who had caused so much havoc during the past few hours. 

A thin veil of sweat gleamed on his face, and his lips parted ever-so-slightly in a constant attempt to maintain his shallow breathing; the chest wound inflicted by Steve's skilfully aimed weapon having hit it's target. Multiple streaks of dirt and blood stained his face and body, and he trembled visibly; whether through the anxiety of having been caught or through the pain of his injuries, Steve didn't care. 

_Whatever suffering he goes through will never be enough… he though vindictively, a sneer creeping onto his face. _

"…in agony and misery, you'll join your dead friend…" Even in his wounded state he managed to draw up a malevolent snicker to accompany his vile words. 

Steve clenched his jaw, fighting back the anger which began to boil within his gut. 

"He's not dead." Steve wasn't sure why he spoke. He had no desire whatsoever to enter into conversation with the deranged maniac, and the words that fell from his mouth took him by surprise as much as they appeared to the man. 

"What?"

The note of panic that emanated from the man's voice was enough to bring a small smile to Steve's lips. A flush of power twinged in his mind and he felt for the first time that he truly had the upper hand. 

"He's alive, and you're the one who's as good as dead. You'll rot in a cell until you'll wish I'd killed you…" Steve murmured.

The depth of rancour in his own voice shocked Steve himself, and he started slightly at the unease that washed over him. 

The man flinched in his seat and groaned slightly from the pain the small movements induced. 

"You're lying…"

The resemblance that this conversation bore to the one they had shared earlier, the one Steve would never forget for he had been informed, albeit wrongly, of his best friends death in such a callous way, was uncanny. 

"No, he's alive. You failed." The statement was bland, but to the mind of the man it was offensive beyond belief. 

_I've failed… he thought to himself frantically. _I can't have failed… I can't have…__

He sat for a moment, stunned into a silence filled with stifled panic. His mind, twisted as it was, unconditionally refused to register the fact that he had been captured, and that the status of his initial victim was now less than relevant as a factor to his likely future behind bars. 

Gripped by an overwhelming sense of dread he acted on the single plan of action that entered his mind. 

Slinging his weight to the left, he reached out his cuffed hands and wrenched the steering wheel with all his might. Trying desperately to ignore the intense pain that filled every inch of his body as his sudden movement tugged at the various wounds that continued to bleed profusely, he maintained his grip on the wheel as the Steve fought with him to regain control. 

It had happened so suddenly that he was taken completely unawares. Steve tried frantically to reclaim charge of the vehicle but the strength the man exhibited betrayed forcefulness his gaunt disposition belied. 

With the use of only one hand at his disposal Steve struggled to reverse the course the car now veered along. Jolting roughly off the smooth tarmac of the road, the car juddered along the roadside verge. Finding himself unable to slacken the man's iron-like grip on the steering wheel Steve decided instead to target the man himself. Releasing his own grip on the wheel the car swerved even more sharply to the left, and as he jerked his elbow into the man's side Steve realised too late his mistake. 

It happened so quickly, but the violently turn had pointed the car on a trajectory which would see them crash headlong into a grassy embankment, and unable to do anything to prevent the collision he knew was coming Steve tensed himself for the impact.  

Shouts of alarm radiated from the back seat of the car and the sound of metal crunching as it concertina-ed echoed in his ears. The tight constraint of his seat belt cut fiercely into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs and his head snapped sharply backwards as the impact slammed through his body. 

Amanda's screams resonated in Steve's head as a black cloud of pain descended upon him. Feeling consciousness slowly slipping away, Steve battled to pull himself back to awareness, but unable to fight it any longer, the gentle clutches of oblivion swept over him, and he knew no more. 

Note: Hi all, sorry so much for the delay in posting – I've had university exams so revise for, but they're all finished now. Yee hee!! Hope you like this chapter, I'll try and update ASAP. Thanks for reading, 

Sarah


	29. Aftermath

He awoke as if from a deep slumber, disordered and drowsy. Although his eyes remained closed he could hear the noise which seemingly surrounded him through a haze of disorientation. He tried to open his eyes but the lids refused to co-operate, as though they were weighted down. The noise around him continued to echo into his head, a cacophony that mingled together into a mass of indistinguishable sound. The unending resonance induced a painful rhythm of throbbing in his head that made him feel vaguely nauseous, but he was powerless to do anything to stop it. He felt painfully cold, and his body was a mass of ceaseless discomfort, so much so that he was unsure where one source of pain ended and the next began. He tried to move, but his body felt as though it were not his own. An oppressive fear had settled over him, pervading even the state of unconsciousness that had held him almost ceaselessly for the preceding hours. He knew he was dying, there was no point denying it. His training as a doctor would not let him ignore the obvious signs that led to the grim conclusion, and he knew that death was approaching. Trying desperately to stave off the impending fate which he knew awaited him, he attempted again to pry open his eyelids, and slowly, very slowly, he managed to break through the cement like grip that held them together. 

Peering dazedly through the sudden burst of light that assaulted his senses, Jesse squinted at the indistinct shapes that were immediately available to his blurred vision. Confused by the presence of light when he had last been aware of ubiquitous darkness, Jesse was quite startled to realise that a good deal of time was missing from his memory.

Without moving his head, Jesse glanced around, the movement pulling at the muscles in his eyes as if he had not used them for a long time. Able to make out only a myriad of hazy colours he was, at first, incapable of distinguishing what he was seeing. Blinking slowly he became aware that he was in a car, and whilst his sight had not yet cleared enough for him to actually see the detail of his surroundings he distinctly felt the presence of other people. Allowing his eyes to remain closed in a prolonged blink, he felt endlessly relieved that he was not alone, Jesse relaxed slightly, comforted in the knowledge that he would not die alone. Taking as deep a breath as his lungs would permit, he slipped a little further back into the clutches of the blackness that had possessed him earlier. 

The moment of relaxation ended abruptly as a sudden thought entered his mind. He flicked his eyes open, a flash of pain piercing them at the immediate intensity of the light. 

_I'm still in the car! He thought erratically, convinced that the man who had attacked him would re-emerge at any moment, brandishing the glinting knife. _

Jesse tried to push himself up, thoughts of escape swirling through his mind, and immediately felt a shearing pain tear through his body, taking the meagre breath he had managed to inhale away from him. Mouth open in a silent scream of agony he fell back onto the car seat, every nerve ending in his stomach ablaze in fiery torment. Gasping mutely he felt hot tears pool in his eyes. Trying to regulate his erratic breathing he arched his head back to try and ease the passage of air into his burning lungs. Afraid to give in to the vapour of insensibility that was threatening to overwhelm him, he clung to his tenuous grip of consciousness, scared that if he should close his eyes he may not be able to force them to reopen. 

As the moments ticked past Jesse was relieved to note that his breaths were slowly becoming easier. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying not to let their closure linger for too long. His mind still telling him that his continuing presence in the car was a threat to the feeble grasp he held on life, Jesse tilted his head lightly to one side, trying furtively to gauge just how bad a predicament he was in. 

His vision clearer than it had been since his return to consciousness, Jesse was able to make out a figure slumped crookedly across from him, bent twisted to one side and unmoving. 

Jesse squinted ahead, confused. What he saw made no sense to him. If he was still in his own car, then surely there could be no one else in there with him. It wasn't possible – there was no room. Struggling to understand the sight before him, Jesse peered forwards, trying ineffectually to decipher who it was that lay so awkwardly. 

The final murky remnants of sleep that remained in his eyes gone, Jesse was stunned to realise that it was Amanda who lay slumped in front of him.  

Bewildered by this turn of events, Jesse felt a lurch of despair clench in his already painful stomach. 

_Amanda?! He thought frantically, wanting desperately to do something to help her and knowing, without real reason, that her current state was entirely his own fault. _

Jesse stared at Amanda almost unblinkingly. Wanting to jump up and do something, anything, to help her, he found that in reality he couldn't bring himself to move for fear of the pain he knew it would cause. Exhausted from the effort the pain had taken, and fighting against the tide of unconsciousness that had begun to flow over him once again, Jesse scrutinised Amanda's face looking for any signs of distress. He was slightly mollified to see that her face was a picture of serenity, almost as if she were merely sleeping. 

As the vacuous vapour of insensibility swirled over every pore of his being, Jesse found he could battle it no longer. Drained so entirely of energy he allowed his eyelids to flicker closed, and with the tumult of noise reverberating through his head, Jesse allowed himself to drift into unconsciousness. 

The glass was cold against his face. He could feel the biting chill as it crept through his skin and onto the warm surface of his gums. Frowning, he pulled his head away from the window where it had rested, and snapped his eyes open. Lifting one hand absent-mindedly to rub his cold face, Mark peered around, momentarily dazed. He returned to full awareness with a thud as he realised the constant noise that had blared through his confusion was the car horn which continued to resound even still as Steve slumped across it, unmoving. Eyes focused on Steve Mark stood quickly and immediately felt his head slam painfully into the roof of the jeep. He cursed himself for his carelessness and rubbed vigorously at the sore spot, ducking down and noticing for the first time Amanda slumped on the floor of the car and taking in Jesse's appearance, his hand hanging limply, face slack. Mark froze. At a total loss as to what to do first, Mark took in the insentient forms of the three people he would consider the closest to him in the world. Steve, his son, unconscious across the steering wheel, oblivious to a roar of sound that would wake even the heaviest of sleepers from their slumbers. Amanda slumped ungraciously against the seats; and Jesse, ghostly white with what could be considered only as a visage of death. 

Torn, he felt compelled to attend to his son, this in itself eliciting an uncomfortable guilt at the back of his mind. Having no knowledge of Amanda's status however, and knowing that Jesse was desperately ill, he knew he had to assess them all by way of triage before ministering to the most seriously injured. 

Turning first to Steve Mark gently placed two fingers to the crook of his neck feeling for a pulse. Finding the beat strong and rhythmic quelled his immediate fears, and gently probing his son's neck for signs of spinal injury he found none. Ensuring his hands were steady Mark supported Steve's neck and manoeuvred him backwards, releasing the pressure on the car horn and bringing an end to incessant tumult of noise. The silence seemed immense, and suddenly made Mark feel very aware of his isolation – he was all but alone with three casualties and knew there was no way he could provide them with the care they required and deserved. 

Finishing his assessment of Steve Mark was appeased to find no clear evidence of series injury. With reluctance he pulled himself away from his son to examine Jesse. Crouching to him, he felt for a pulse, determined yet scared that he might not find one. With trembling fingers he placed pressure against the carotid artery ensuring the pressure was not such that it should prevent the flow of blood. As the seconds ticked away Mark felt his stomach clench unpleasantly before he finally detected an infinitesimal vibration beneath his fingers. Leaving his fingers in place he counted the erratic pulse, calculating that Jesse was highly bradycardic and had quite a serious arrhythmia. Settling back onto his heels Mark surveyed Jesse. His profession told him it was not unexpected that Jesse's heart would slowly concede to the stress of his injuries, but his friendship with the young man insisted that he ignore the facts that were staring him so callously in the face. 

Taking a deep revitalising breath Mark turned his attention now to Amanda. She had clearly sustained the least damage of the three, and had in fact regained consciousness during the time Mark had attended to Steve and Jesse. She was watching Mark, her brow furrowed. 

"Amanda?" Mark spoke quietly, betraying the huge relief he felt that he was no longer alone in having to deal with the situation. 

"Mark?" Amanda frowned more deeply. She could taste the metallic bitterness of blood in her mouth, and could feel a small cut where she had obviously bitten her tongue. Swallowing at the unpalatable taste.

"What happened?"

Mark didn't reply. He hadn't really given any thought to the cause of the accident, being more concerned with the consequences he had been faced with. 

"I don't know…" Mark looked up from his kneeling position and froze. He hadn't noticed before – had been too preoccupied with Steve, Jesse and Amanda. The man, the cause of so much heartache and distress.

He had gone. 

Note: I apologise profusely for the huge delay in posting this, there is more to come (hopefully) soon. I think the world is conspiring against me finishing the story what with everything that's been going on lately! My mum's been in hospital and I've had flu… the list goes on. Sorry again, and Merry Christmas!


	30. Escape

Staring at the empty passenger seat Mark could have easily believed an icy finger had been run up his spine. His stomach quivered uncomfortably and he found it difficult to believe what he was seeing. 

_He's gone, he thought despairingly, __he's gone and he's out there somewhere… _

A surge of anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach and he fought to control the tide of fury that coursed through his veins.

_No! He thought furiously, __he has to pay, he has to be punished!_

Punching his hand into the vacant passenger seat he cursed. 

"Mark!?" Amanda stared up at him, bewildered. She had never seen Mark lose his temper in such a way, and couldn't understand his behaviour. Her head felt clouded from the impact of the car, and she was still unsure what had happened. 

Taking in a deep breath and trying to swallow back his anger Mark turned his gaze to Amanda. She looked perplexed at his behaviour and more than slightly taken aback. 

"He… I'm sorry, but… Amanda, he's gone…"

"Who?" Amanda said, frowning and shaking her head in confusion. 

"The man!" Mark gestured emphatically at the empty seat, and sat back heavily onto the rough floor of the jeep. Sighing deeply he ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes wearily. 

Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but found that no words were forthcoming. She felt sick. 

_It's like a nightmare, she thought, alarmed. There seemed to be no end to the catalogue of disasters that continued to besiege them, and she didn't know how much more she could take. _

"Mark…" Amanda looked on as he continued to sit motionless, his face covered by one hand. 

"Mark, please…" Her voice was pleading. She needed him to do something, _anything. It struck her how much she relied on his cool headed capabilities, and seeing him now, apparently defeated, panicked her. _

"Ma_rk…" Her voice took on a whiny tone that reminded her of her two children, but she ignored it, desperate for a response. _

Finally he looked up, the lines in his face seeming more pronounced than Amanda recalled. 

There was a heavy pause before Mark sighed deeply, visibly pulling himself up as he did so. 

"Steve can't drive – his head injury is worse than I had thought. You'll have to do it… I can watch Jesse." Mark spoke in a tone that could only be perceived as exhausted and dejected, but for the very fact that he had finally responded Amanda forced herself to push her concerns to the back of her mind. The events of the past few hours would undoubtedly have lingering effects on them for a long time to come, but her immediate fears were for Jesse's safety. If the situation should worsen the repercussions would be far worse than she dared to imagine. 

Waiting for Mark to continue, Amanda noticed his gaze had rested on the empty passenger seat. She turned her head and took in the blood stained seat, her mind flashing instantly back to Jesse's car and the faint laughter that had been whipped past her ears in the stormy darkness that night. 

_It was probably him… he was watching the whole time, laughing at us…_

The thought sent a shudder throughout her entire body and a vague sense of foreboding seemed to permeate the very atmosphere. 

_Please… she thought desperately, unsure of what exactly it was she was pleading for, __Please…._

Following the instructions given to her as they worked, Amanda helped Mark to move Steve into the back of the jeep. Whilst he was conscious, he was far from lucid. He had struggled slightly when Amanda had attempted to unhook his seat belt, and she had had to calm him before she could continue. His eyes had flashed with confusion and a nasty bruise shone purple on his forehead, but he had settled to her touch and relented to her helping hand. 

Despite the fact that Mark had initiated Steve's withdrawal from the driver's seat into the back of the car, he appeared to lose himself in thought and offered little by way of actual assistance. Once Steve had been settled onto the floor of the jeep as comfortably as was possible – the actual seats being filled to capacity by Jesse – Mark clambered stiffly from the car and wandered up onto the damp highway.

Peering with mild interest at the tyre marks which had been etched into the grey tarmac, Mark heaved a sigh. The past few hours had been more of a nightmare than he could ever have imagined possible in the supposed safety of his own home, and the weight of his continuing concern for both Jesse and Steve pressed heavily on his mind. Now to compound matters was the fact that a man who could be described as no less than psychopathic had absconded, and from recent history alone seemed likely to remain a threat until either his recapture or his death. And whilst Mark had earlier proclaimed his preference for the prior, he was fast finding himself hoping for the latter and an end to the monstrosity who had seen fit to wreak so much destruction in the life of an unassuming stranger.  

Mark was in fact truly amazed that the man had managed to vacate the jeep at all, let alone depart the scene so fully. He wondered if he had perhaps underestimated the severity of his wounds – multiple gunshots surely should have rendered him immobile if not unconscious, and yet he had managed to overcome Steve at the steering wheel and flee with the appearance of ease. 

_It's almost as if he's not human, Mark thought flatly. Whilst the conclusion was far from logical it did seem to explain his apparent inability to be stopped. Mark snorted at the absurdity of his musings and shook his head at himself, smirking at the effects of tiredness as it scrambled his usually good sense. _

As quickly as it had come the moment of joviality passed, and Mark again found himself flushed with burning anger at the man who would seemingly stop at nothing to allude punishment. 

_He should be dead… he though maliciously, instantly angered further by the depth of hatred he felt. He was now not only angry with the still nameless man, but also at himself for sinking to wishing death upon another human being; such an act being unfamiliar to his usually kind-natured character. _

_He can't have got far, Mark deliberated with a frown. Logic told him that, even if he had overestimated their severity, the man's injuries would prevent movement rapid enough to allow him to have fled the scene beyond their reach. _

_He must be around here somewhere. As the thought occurred to him Mark swivelled on the spot, as if he expecting to see the man laying somewhere in plain sight. _

Without any real conscious awareness of it happening, the investigative skills which came so naturally to him kicked in and Mark scrutinised the ground intently, convinced he would find clues to the direction the man had taken. Whilst tracking had never been a particular forte, the weather and circumstances such as they were allowed him to easily spot the muddy footprints which led away from the car and into the scrubland at the side of the road. 

Pausing for a moment before deciding what he should do, Mark contemplated whether or not it would be safe to attempt to apprehend the man on his own, and if he should even attempt it when Jesse's life hung so precariously in the balance. 

Deciding on the spur of the moment that he could not allow the man to go free after everything he had done he stalked forwards, totally obvious to the questioning look on Amanda's face as he disappeared from the road.

Hi everyone, Sorry for leaving such a long gap in chapters – I've had no access to the internet over the holidays. Lots of time to write though! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and once I've checked over the next bit I'll post that too.

Happy New Year!

Sarah


	31. Capture

The man had seen his opportunity for what it was. His last hope. If he hadn't taken the chance when it had presented itself to him then he was sure that he would have soon been in the clutches of the law. And he couldn't have that.

_Oh no, he thought to himself blithely, __we couldn't have that could we. That would never do. Not when I have so many plans..._

Tittering to himself he stumbled forwards, a lightening-like bolt of pain shooting through his chest as he did so. Unperturbed by the excruciating agony as it radiated through him he found that if anything, it made him laugh harder.

_They can't stop me! No one can. All these years taking crap from everyone… If they knew…. immortal… I'm immortal…I'll show them. I'll make them pay…_

Unable to suppress the cackle which escaped his lips, he fell to the floor, the tearing pain that enveloped his body taking the energy which had thus far kept him walking. 

His hands were still handcuffed firmly together and had impeded his progress more than he had expected. As a result he had made it only about thirty metres from the road, but he little cared. 

Heaving breathless roars of silent laughter he struggled to his hands and knees, dropping his head down as he gasped for breath, thrashing like a wild animal. He knew no harm would come to him now. It simply couldn't. 

Mark heard it before he saw it. The earth which was usually so dry and dusty had soaked up the rain from the overnight storm and was now saturated and cloying leaving heavy footprints scuffed in a trail through the claggy mud. The track had led a meandering path through the dirt and assorted sunburnt scraps of brush, and it took Mark only minutes to follow it through to the point at which he currently stood. And now a noise… A feral grunting that sliced through the air and cut its path to Mark's senses, conspicuous by its sheer incongruity to anything he had ever heard before. 

The dull morning light cast an eerie glow across the almost empty plot of land. It had been bought some months previously by a property developer but had stood empty after a dispute between developers and environmental campaigners. Mark had never stepped foot on this land before. He had had no cause to and as such found himself uncertain.

Tipping his head toward the direction he believed the sound had come from Mark tried to ignore the shudder which ran through his body, unsure whether it had been elicited by the primeval wailing or by the distinct chill that ran through the usually hot LA air. 

With caution he stepped forwards again, his feet sticking with surprising vigour to the gluey mud. 

Mark saw him easily; kneeling in the dirt he seemed to be trying to crawl forwards on all fours making little progress with each shuddering movement. 

Mark stopped on the spot on which he stood and stared at the sight before him. 

It was pitiable. The anger which persisted in tainting Mark's senses like a bad taste abated slightly and he found a new sensation of disgust entering his consciousness as he looked on at the pathetic creature in front of him. 

He felt no sorrow – he couldn't bring himself to offer even a shred of compassion to the man and he observed him now in almost apathetic passivity. 

He had heard him approach but could do little to elude him. Clawing his fingers into the sodden earth he found great handfuls of mud squelched viscously through his hands as he tried to drag himself forwards, but he knew there was no use.

_Conserve your energy, he thought. __Bide your time…_

The gruff hold pulled him up off his hands so he was balanced entirely on his knees. He allowed his head to roll backwards and he looked up at the inverted face of the white-haired man. His face was grim but determined. 

_I wonder… thought the man. __I wonder why he has come, and not the young one?_

_Maybe, he reflected, __maybe the young one is dead…_

The notion penetrated his consciousness and surged through him like a rush of adrenaline. 

_Dead. And the other one must be by now too…_

_Two down…_

Mark tried to haul the man to his feet but found it an impossible task. The man had allowed his body to go limp and he now hung corpse like, a dead weight in Mark's arms. Endeavouring to hold him up Mark resigned himself to dragging the man back to the car, walking backwards the entire way. 

Groaning under the exertion Mark found the anger began to bubble again beneath his skin. He cursed the man silently, furious with himself for failing to protect his family. 

_Should never have happened! Mark thought ferociously unable to keep himself from falling into the trap of wondering why bad things persist in happening to such good people. _

Pausing to take a breath Mark released his grip on the man, allowing him to drop back down onto the swampy floor. The rain was falling harder now and as it hit Mark's face it mingled with beads of perspiration that shimmered on his red face. 

The few metres back to the car were taking Mark far longer than he had originally anticipated. He had a firm suspicion that the man had done his utmost to impede his progress, and whilst Mark was wiser than to have expected assistance he had thought that the man's condition would have prevented any intentional act of hindrance. 

But he was obviously wrong.

The man writhed in the dirt, a strange smile playing on his lips. It reminded Mark of Steve when he was younger and had a secret he was longing to reveal, and Mark couldn't help but wonder what on earth was going on in the mind of the would-be murderer who appeared all but defeated.  

With irrepressible interest Mark watched the man whilst he tried to regain his composure. He had worked in crime investigation for many years and had found he possessed an uncanny knack for getting into the psyche of criminals. Much to his own dismay, he had on numerous occasions had the unfortunate task of attempting to get into the minds of felons who had targeted himself, Steve and their friends. And in these cases it was particularly difficult to distance himself from the insanity which lurked in the dark, diseased recesses of the criminal mind. 

Watching the man as he lolled carelessly in the dirt Mark observed behaviour he would clinically describe as psychotic 

The man lolled carelessly in the dirt, arching his back and extending his neck to the fullest so his head was tipped flat to the heavens above. The enduring storm tainted the sky a mucky grey, and the man opened his mouth as if trying to capture the small pearls of precipitation that fell easily from the oppressive clouds. He ran his tongue appreciatively round his lips as if savouring the taste of the rainwater, flicking his eyes open and catching Mark's gaze in a brief moment of understanding. 

_He's not insane… Mark realised with absolute certainty. _He knows exactly what he's doing. He's playing a game and he's enjoying every moment of it…__

The man stretched his thin lips into a grotesque leer and began to laugh again; the high-pitched cackle that had assaulted his senses earlier in the hallway of his house. 

A renewed flush of passionate fury flooded his veins, and Mark grabbed the man roughly, bringing an end to the laughter and eliciting a small yelp of pain. 

Dragging him with every ounce of energy he possessed Mark finally found himself at the side of the road. 

Staggering forward, Mark released his grip on the man again and stumbled onto the hard tarmac of the road, relieved to see the car and no apparent signs of any further trouble.

Ignoring the sudden increase in the intensity of the rain Mark stalked a path to the car and rapped heavily on the window. 

Inside, Amanda jerked convulsively. Unable to stifle a scream she snapped her head up in a rush of fear, convinced she would be confronted with the gaunt face of the man who had attacked Jesse. 

Much to her relief she instead found Mark's face peering intently into the car, his white hair plastered wetly over his forehead. 

Breathing an uncompromised sigh of allayed tension Amanda flung a hand up to her chest, her heart beating palpably against her palm. She leant forwards and released the latch on the car door and Mark immediately pulled it open. 

"Mark, where have you been? We need to get Jesse out of here, his…" Amanda's urgent pleas were cut off mid-sentence by Mark's vehement overtones. 

"Help me get him in the car. We're taking him with us," he barked snappishly in a voice quite unlike his usual playful manner, gesturing over his shoulder at the crumpled form that lay in the road. 

"What?" Amanda was truly baffled. Not only troubled by Mark's unusual gruffness but also at his seeming obsession in taking the man with them no matter what the cost.

"Whilst Jesse's been laying there dy…," she gulped. "Dying. You've been chasing after… after _him_!?"

There was a moment of steely silence during which Amanda and Mark eyed each other icily. 

Amanda knew Mark's behaviour, and for that fact her own, was quite unlike their usual characters, and that the effects of exhaustion and worry were taking their toll. But she couldn't believe Mark would place his yearning for justice above the life of one his best friends. 

Mark broke eye contact first. He turned his head away from Amanda's cool gaze and took a deep breath. The rain which continued to pound onto his body was starting to bite coldly into his flesh and he was beginning to lose his patience. 

"Amanda, just do it ok? I'm not going to let him go free, and the sooner you help me, the sooner we can get out of here… Ok?" His tone left little doubt that he was serious, and even Mark himself knew he was being unreasonable.  

Stunned slightly by Mark's absurd demands Amanda stared at him, bewildered. She was desperate for Mark to get in the car so they could leave, and through the sheer urgency of the situation she knew it would be simpler to go along with his demands than try to refute them. 

"Ok. Just… just tell me what you want me to do, alright?" Her voice was soft, appeasing. She had no energy left to argue and reluctantly left Jesse under the watchful, albeit concussed, eye of Steve. 

The man appeared to remain unconscious as Mark and Amanda dragged him to the car. He was forced with no particular care or attention back into the front passenger seat, and once Mark had taken his place in the back with Jesse and Steve, Amanda climbed grudgingly into the driver's seat. 

For the umpteenth time in the past few hours Amanda found she was drenched to the skin, cold and spent she wanted nothing more than to be at home in bed, asleep and warm. Instead she found herself able to smell the stale odour that wafted pungently from the man beside her; rank and foetid she wrinkled her nose at the stench, a faint queasiness building again in the pit of her stomach. She was reluctant to sit in such close quarters to the man, not least because of the stench which pervaded the air around her, but because she had been unable to secure the man to anywhere near her satisfaction. The cuffs which still secured his wrists together would have been ideal to bind him firmly to the car so there would be no repeat of the accident which had driven the car off the road. But despite searching she had been unable to find the small key she needed to first remove the cuffs before again restraining him. 

As a result Amanda now sat eyeing the man suspiciously, deeply uncomfortable but with no option but to do as she knew she must.

Without really thinking about it, Amanda reached behind her and pulled the seatbelt around her slender shoulder, securing it firmly across her waist. 

Turning the key in the ignition the car sparked into life. With trembling hands Amanda switched the car into forward drive and gently pressing her foot to the accelerator she guided the car back onto the road and they continued down the highway. 


	32. Torment

Steve rested his head back against the hard leather of the seats behind him. A rhythmic pounding reverberated through his skull accompanied by a needle like pain that bored through the side of his head. 

Screwing his eyes up against the pain Steve inhaled deeply through his nose, held the breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his mouth in a way that his Dad had taught him would relieve the nausea which sat heavily in his gut. 

The gentle motion of the car as it began to move shook Steve from his reverie and he opened his eyes, momentarily confused at how the car could be moving when he was no longer in the driver's seat. 

Glancing up Steve saw his father leaning attentively over Jesse, his skilled hands carefully readjusting the make-shift drain which protruded from Jesse's chest. Although there was a distinct blur around the edges of his vision, Steve could clearly see a red-tinted fluid trickling through the tube and into the half-filled bag which had been taped around the base of its short length in preparation for their journey. 

Even with no medical training and his injured state notwithstanding, Steve recognised the blood-tainted fluid for what it signified. Jesse was still bleeding. Despite the many hours which had passed and the numerous attempts to get the haemorrhaging under control the wound would not clot.

_He's going to die, Steve thought despondently, unable to keep back the tide of despair that had been ever-present since Mark's shocking discovery hours previously. _

"Dad?" Steve spoke quietly, uncertain of himself and still trying to fend off the nausea that curled through his stomach. 

Mark looked up, surprised by the sound of his son's voice. 

"Steve? How are you feeling." Mark's face was creased in concern, his voice sombre. 

The question irritated Steve who, although he knew his father had every right to be concerned, felt that the worry was better placed elsewhere. 

"I'm fine," he said dismissively, "How's Jesse?"

Mark regarded Steve for a moment, not fooled by his automatic reassurances that he was fine. Even to the layman it was obvious from the way in which he held his head stiffly, his brow furrowed into deep creases that he was in serious pain. His wrist was resting protectively in his lap; the tissue swollen into a red, shiny mass, the sleeve of his jacket gauging a line into the flesh.

"Jesse's holding his own, can I look at your wrist?" Mark dodged the question of Jesse's well-being expertly and skuttling on his knees across the rubber matting that lined the floor of the jeep, he approached Steve leaving him little escape from the scrutiny to come. 

Knowing there was little point in resisting Steve allowed Mark to take him by the elbow and raise the offending limb for examination. 

"How is he Dad? Really?" Mark avoided Steve's inquisitive gaze and began attempting to pry the taut fabric away from the injured wrist. 

"Well… his condition is as stable as can be expected." Mark knew Steve deserved a better answer than the one he had offered, but in truth he didn't want to give the prognosis he had reached, grim as it was. 

Jesse had lapsed into unconsciousness some time ago, and shown little responsiveness to any form of stimulus. The continued bleeding inferred to Mark that his body was in such a state of shock that it was no longer capable of clotting. If and when they finally reached help, Mark feared that it was already too late. Jesse was likely to either bleed to death or go into complete respiratory and cardiac failure, and which ever came first the outcome would not differ. 

Glancing quickly up to Steve's face he saw the stern expression that told him his hedging of the question would not suffice as an acceptable response. Averting his gaze abruptly Mark continued as if he had not noticed that anything was amiss and continued to peel away the cloth from Steve's wrist. 

"Dad?" Steve's voice was insistent. Mark knew there was no was he could fool his son, and that in fact he had no right to deny him the truth. 

He just didn't want to be the one to tell him. 

Amanda tried to ignore the murmuring of voices which sounded from the back of the car. She tried to focus instead on the road ahead, but found that the overwhelming tiredness that ached into her bones had rendered her vision slightly blurry. The grainy image of the grey road in front of her was already obscured by the persistent downpour of rain that had increased in intensity as they neared rendezvous point. 

_Marker 24, just before the intercity off-ramp… _

Amanda tried to suppress the increasing sense of trepidation that had begun smouldering in her stomach a few minutes previously. Striving to brush it off as a result of the circumstances and her already overwrought mind she shook her head as if trying physically to shake away the sense of foreboding. 

"Is he dead yet?"

The voice broke through Amanda's musings sharply. She snapped her head to passenger seat to see if the man had regained consciousness but found he had not moved, his head still lolling on his chest, a small trail of blood trickling down his chin from a split in his lip. Endeavouring to keep a watch on the road Amanda observed the man from the side of her eyes looking or any signs of movement. 

There were none. 

Extending one shaking hand she prodded the man hard on the shoulder before retracting her hand as if she had been stung. 

He didn't move. 

Breathing deeply Amanda peered into the rear-view mirror to see if either man had noticed the voice which spoke such callous words, but saw that Mark was still tending to Steve, both in apparent deep conversation. 

Trying to regulate her erratic breathing Amanda turned her head back to the road and gripped the steering wheel harder. 

_Just your imagination… she reassured herself._

_A spiteful trick of your imagination… tired, that's all…_

Amanda shook her head again, chastising herself for allowing her mind to play such cruel tricks on her. 

"Do you want to join him?"

Amanda froze, her grip on the steering wheel increasing until her knuckles were white. 

There was no denying the voice this time. It had clearly come from the man who sat beside her. 

"Do you want to die too?"

He whispered so quietly that Amanda was certain that she was the only one capable of hearing it, and sure enough when she glanced up into the mirror she saw there had again been no reaction from Mark or Steve. 

Low and irrefutably hostile his words reached her ears alone, filled with hate and menace he continued. 

"Say a single word and I'll kill you where you sit, do I make myself clear?"

Amanda's ears seemed to be filled with a deafening ringing as she tried to comprehend what was happening, but his words penetrated her mind clearly. Logic told her that the man, injured and desperate, was trying to intimidate her, but there was something of his words that made her doubt the very logic that she held in such high regard. 

"I have a gun and I will shoot you. Do. You. Understand. Me?" Each word was punctuated with threatening malice and Amanda knew without looking that he was not lying. 

Without turning her head she flashed her eyes to the side and surveyed the man, a small smile played on his bloody lips and the shiny black barrel of a gun pointing directly at her head. 

**********

Sighing and sitting back onto his heels Mark surveyed Steve. 

"Steve…" he began reluctantly. "I… I don't know what to tell you. I won't lie… it isn't good." Mark paused, unsure how to continue. 

"Dad, just tell me, ok? I need to know if he's…" he trailed off, not wanting to voice the bleak thoughts that were running through his head. 

Mark faltered but knew he would have to respond. 

"He's very sick. I honestly don't know if… he might be…" Mark hesitated again before continuing. "He's been unconscious for a long time. He's lost a lot of blood… maybe too much…" 

A profound silence fell between them, neither wishing to accept the gruesome conclusion to which the facts logically led.

Mark continued to tend to Steve's wrist. Having managed to release the fabric which had stretched so tightly into his flesh Mark was now able to see that it had in fact cut a deep groove into the swollen tissue, a blue line of bruising already evident. 

Steve winced, retracting his wrist automatically as a bolt of pain shot down through his fingers. 

"Sorry," Mark too winced, feeling the pain he had inadvertently inflicted on Steve, but reached again for his wrist nonetheless. He remembered stating a few hours previously that the wrist was definitely broken and that is was requisite of a splint, seeing the state of it now he cursed himself for neglecting to carry out what he had known was necessary. 

His wrist still tingling in pain, Steve surveyed his father. The look of self-condemnation was one that he was perhaps more familiar with seeing in his own reflection, his dad rarely having real cause to reprove himself for anything. 

"It'll be ok Dad, really." Though Steve was initially referring to his fractured wrist, the alternate meaning to the sentiment was not lost on either man. It was the much needed positive assertion that had been scarce during the evening, and whilst the words were merely an empty promise, at the moment it was the best they could hope for. 

"What do you want?" Amanda's voice was barely audible as she hissed at him, a volatile mix of anger and dread coursing through her veins as she stared fixedly ahead as the wet road. 

"Tut, tut… what's the rush? Just sit, and enjoy" The man's smile deepened. 

For a moment there was silence.

"First things first, put the radio on. Do anything to let them know…" He moved the gun forwards so that it protruded further from the folds of his baggy clothing, leaving no doubt of the unspoken threat. 

Amanda hesitated for a moment, glancing quickly up into the rear-view mirror.

Mark and Steve were so close, yet Amanda knew if she did anything to antagonise the man she would not only endanger her own life, but theirs' as well. She needed to do something to change the situation, to regain control. 

_But what?_

Releasing the steering wheel with her right hand Amanda reached forwards and with a trembling finger jabbed the On button on the stereo. 

The intense silence was immediately broken by the nasal chatter that was currently broadcasting on the radio. Amanda took a glimpse back into the mirror. Mark peered up at her, surprised at the sudden influx of noise, and for a fleeting moment their eyes met. 

_Please… Amanda thought, tortured by how close he was and yet the isolation she felt from him. __Please help me…_

She tried to convey her desperation in her eyes, but fearing what would happen if he should pick up on her distress Amanda averted her gaze quickly and stared at the road ahead, tears pricking at her eyes. 

"And with us today in the studio is special guest Buck McKenzie, who proudly boasts the world record for eating pickled eggs. A true champion. So Buck, tell us…"

Amanda fazed out the nasal droning, irritated by the inane triviality of the mindless banter. 

_How can Steve listen to such rubbish? She thought, gratified for the momentary distraction from the man with a gun who sat to her immediate right. It seemed ironic that such inconsequential nonsense should be continuing as normal when she was embroiled in a life and death situation with no apparent means of escape. _

Amanda's mind raced as she tried frantically to formulate a plan; anything that would subdue the man long enough for her to disarm him of the weapon. 

_Where did he get it? She thought, the question managing to stand out from the melee which roared through her head, __if he'd had a gun, why use a knife?_

It made no sense to her. She had worked on investigations into violent crimes more times than she cared to remember, and it just didn't fit. Serial offenders usually had a weapon of choice, and stuck to it.

_If he'd had a gun he could have killed us all… he's had every opportunity, so why not use it? _

_Maybe he's just crazy, she thought morosely. _

But she could not reconcile the thought as truth. 

Turning her head ever so slightly to the side Amanda eyed the sleek black gun as furtively as she could. 

The man held the gun in a perceivably firm grasp, a single bony, bloodied finger stroking the barrel tenderly. 

"Nice, isn't it?" He murmured, his voice imperceptible to anyone but Amanda over the discord that was playing on the radio. 

Amanda flicked her head back so she was facing front, cursing herself for allowing the man to notice that she had been watching. 

"Yes," he purred, self-satisfied smugness discernible in his quiet voice. 

"Quite a stroke of luck really. He had it in his waistband…" The man fell silent, allowing Amanda to digest the small snippet of information he had fed to her curious mind. 

_Steve's gun. He's got Steve's gun…_

It made sense. There had been no where else for him to get it.  

_He's using Steve's weapon against us. _


	33. Stalemate

Amanda gripped the wheel, her tight grasp hot and sweaty as she clenched the muscles in her hands trying to resist the urge to scream in frustration. Her heart hammered frenziedly against her chest, throbbing so hard that it resounded into her throat threatening to choke her. 

_This can't be happening… she thought desperately,_

_Please just let me wake up…_

Amanda blinked her eyes furiously, fighting back tears. The sudden influx of panic was overwhelming and she fought to get it under control, knowing that she could not give in to her fear without endangering her own and her friends' lives. 

Trying to regulate her breathing Amanda forced her mind away from the ghoulish reflections that plagued her thoughts and toward anything that may provide a way out of the current situation. 

_There's three… four, she corrected herself, _Four of us and only one of him,_ she reasoned._

_Surely there's something we can do?_

_But it's only you – you're on your own whispered a second shamelessly blunt voice of reason. _

_There is no chance of unified action when the others don't know you need help. They think he's unconscious – they don't know he has a gun…_

_Oh God, Amanda lamented trying to ignore the knotted ache of the tight muscles in her furrowed brow._

_If I say anything he'll shoot them in an instant, she thought wretchedly.  _

_And you. CJ and Dion will be without a mother… the voice intoned._

_No. Amanda thought feverishly, __I won't let that happen._

With a much needed rush of adrenaline Amanda sat herself up more stiffly, holding her posture as she had been taught to in the finishing school that her privileged upbringing had afforded her. 

Whilst the slight act was seemingly trivial to any stranger, those who knew Amanda would have taken the physical bolstering as a sign that she was steeling herself for a fight. 

_I have to subdue him, she thought determinedly. _

_Quickly and effectively so he'll have no chance to fire the gun. _

Steve's gun. 

_Damn it! She cursed angrily. He had taken their only real weapon, and no doubt Steve would take it badly that it was his gun that was being used to threaten them in such a way. _

"And, hey, did anyone happen to catch the weather last night? Hoo wee!! That was one hell of a storm wasn't it folks? Here's Jenny with an update."

The constant monotonous drone had ended only to be replaced with a high-pitched squawk of a woman, but rather than tune out the irritating noise Amanda focused her attention onto the woman words. 

"Last night's rain _was_ quite unexpected wasn't it Jim? The storm clouds were unexpectedly blown in from the east early yesterday evening and resulted in some of the heaviest rainfall we've seen in the past decade. Lightening strikes have resulted in a fire resulting in at least ten thousand dollars worth of damage, and severe flooding has cut of access to many roads causing chaos for this morning's commuters. Good news though, the work to clear the roads is nearly complete and the continuing showers should end by mid-afternoon leading us onto to a beautifully clear night tonight. Tomorrow we can expect…"

Amanda switched off from the continuing report. She little cared what the forecast for the next day was, not when she was so preoccupied with getting through the current day alive. She had extracted form the report the information that was significant and was now trying to digest the small hope that it had awarded her. 

_They're clearing the roads… we should be able to get to the ambulance… We're so close …_

But what would happen if they did reach the ambulance? Amanda knew she would not be able to simply stop the car and let the paramedics take Jesse to the help he desperately needed. The man was so determined to avoid capture that he would never allow it. And Amanda knew that Jesse would not survive any more delays in receiving medical attention. 

_If he can survive at all…_

Mark sat on the floor next to his son, his legs sprawled out in front of him extended as far as the confines of the jeep would allow. His muscles ached with tiredness, but his head was buzzing. So much had happened in the past few hours that he was finding it hard to gather his thoughts in the organised way that he was used to, and they were now spinning through his mind quite haphazardly. 

"Oooughh…" he murmured quietly, running a hand over his weary face and closing his eyes for a brief moment of respite from the sight of Jesse's supine, seemingly lifeless, form. 

Steve had drifted into a listless stupor moments earlier, all most as soon as Mark had finished attending his wrist, a likely combination of pain and concussion draining his energy and concentration. 

The inane drivel that continued to radiate from the radio was beginning to grate at his tolerance, but he did not ask Amanda to turn it off. The ominous silence that had surrounded them for so long was a far less appealing option, leaving no distraction from the bleak thoughts that had taken to accompanying him every second. 

_No, Mark thought, __better to listen to the twaddle than start thinking again…_

But he couldn't help but think. 

Opening his eyes again Mark found the sight of Jesse unchanged. His tousled blonde hair seemed almost dark to his colourless skin. He had always had a fair complexion, but it seemed as though every trace of colour had been washed away, leaving him haggard and ghost-like. His lips were tinted with an unhealthy blue hue, and his skin had taken on a waxy, unreal quality. 

Allowing his eyes to travel away from Jesse's face, Mark continued to take in the horribly familiar sight. 

Jesse's midriff was heavily bandaged, the once white dressings soaked in a fusion of dark crimson and brilliant red as fresh blood continued to seep through the open stab wound. His white shirt was torn, and it too was bloodied, a telltale gash in the fabric revealing the point at which the knife had entered Jesse's modest frame. 

Mark turned his attention now on to the tube that protruded from Jesse's chest wall. It really was a pathetic attempt at a chest-drain, short and stubby, and no doubt it would have been extremely painful for Jesse if had been conscious enough to be aware of its insertion. 

_Thankfully he wasn't, Mark thought dryly. _

Mark continued to stare, as if transfixed by the sight. Something of the scene had grabbed his attention, but he wasn't sure what. Something had changed and it concerned him. 

Pulling his knees up Mark struggled to move in the confined space, restricted in his movements not only by the boundaries of the jeep, but also by his desire not to disturb his son. 

Finally managing to twist himself onto his knees Mark crawled quite awkwardly the few feet to reach Jesse's side.

Her grip on the steering wheel increasing Amanda froze in her seat. Glimpsing quickly into the rear-view mirror she could see Mark struggling to his knees. Her attention was taken almost immediately as she detected movement to her right, the periphery of her vision, whilst not clear, affording her the sight of the man shifting slightly in his seat. 

Holding her breath she waited for something to happen, praying silently that the man would not take Mark's movement as the incentive he needed to start shooting. After a moment, when nothing had happened Amanda allowed her gaze to drift to the right.

The man's eyes were almost imperceptibly open, the barest of slits allowing him to see, and whilst Amanda could not see his pupils to know their focus, she had no doubt that they were boring into her own face, she could feel it as genuinely as she could feel her sweaty palms on the steering wheel. 

Dropping her gaze from the man's face to the gun he clenched so resolutely, Amanda saw that he had inched it out yet further from the cover of his baggy clothing; the barrel titled slightly towards her head. 

Giving no indication that she had noticed the unspoken threat Amanda allowed her gaze to travel back to the road, permitting it to linger again for a brief moment on the mirror and Mark's hunched back. 

_Please, she thought urgently, __please don't do anything to provoke him…_

Unaware of Amanda's silent plea Mark bent over Jesse. 

He was at first unable to work out what it was of Jesse's seemingly unchanged insentient form that had suddenly concerned him, and so began to examine him carefully. 

Extending his hand Mark placed two fingers to the crook of Jesse's neck to feel for the pulse. As had been the case when he had last carried out the regretfully necessary action, Mark waited with baited breath for the all important pulsation beneath his fingers. 

He waited, but felt nothing. 

Carefully lifting his fingers Mark repositioned them, wondering if perhaps the pressure he had applied was too great to allow the pulsation to be palpable. Pressing more gently onto the carotid artery Mark waited again, anticipating the pulse he was desperate to detect. 

Again there was nothing. 

Feeling quite desperate Mark retracted his hand and bent his head to Jesse's chest, certain that he would be able to find a heartbeat at the source. Pressing his ear to Jesse's exposed cold flesh he listened. 

Nothing. 

Not only could he not detect a pulse, but he realised now the change that had occurred in Jesse's appearance. The infinitesimal motion of his chest as he took tenuous breaths had stopped. 

"Amanda, stop the car!"

Mark lifted his head and shifted his knees until he was placed directly above Jesse's head. Without waiting for the car to stop he placed his hand underneath Jesse's chin and titled his head back slightly to open the airway. Pinching his nose tightly Mark sealed his lips around Jesse's and exhaled deeply, forcing air in the inactive lungs. 

Lifting his head Mark shouted again. 

"Amanda, stop the car now!"


	34. Endgame

Amanda didn't move. She maintained her grip on the steering wheel and faced front, knowing she had run out of time to formulate a plan. The man would not allow her to stop the car, and Mark could not help but be alerted to his conscious and threatening presence is she failed to respond to his command. 

Blinking furiously she tried to think, her thoughts coalescing in her mind to form nothing but incomprehensible, panic-stricken chaos. 

She flicked her eyes to the man, afraid of what she might see. 

His eyes were open, piercing into her face, the hint of a thin-lipped sneer playing on his face. 

"Do not stop the car."

The order was spoken in a whisper, an undertone so low that Amanda barely caught his words. 

"Amanda? He's not breathing, stop the car _now_!" 

Mark's voice resounded loudly in Amanda's head, the anxiety in his voice tearing into her nerves. 

She didn't know what to do. 

"Stop the car, and I'll kill you…"

"Amanda?!"

She made the decision on an impulse. 

Slamming her foot down onto the brake, Amanda sent the car into a skid, sheering across the wet road, struggling to maintain control of the car. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the inevitable explosion of gunfire from beside her.

It never came.

The yell of surprise from the back of the car was nothing in comparison to the shriek that was emitted from the man who sat besides her. 

The force with which the car jerked to a halt was tremendous, sending the man hurtling forwards, his body slamming into the windscreen and through the glass out onto the wet road. 

Amanda though was held secure by the belt which bound her to her seat. She felt it cut roughly into her shoulder and stomach, and she gasped for breath as the pressure winded her, a powerful thrust driving into the back of her seat and forcing her forwards even more so. 

Eyes open wide as she struggled to breathe she found her gaze fixed on the man whose body had come to halt on the grey tarmac. He had rolled like a rag doll over and over before coming to a stop and now lay, arms spread wide, one leg bent at an odd angle, in the middle of the road. A small pool of blood was oozing from his head, seeping insidiously outwards to form what looked like a crimson halo.  

Amanda felt her vision drifting in and out of focus, and she squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force air into her unwilling lungs. 

A cool morning breeze was drifting lazily into the car through the hole in the shattered windscreen, carrying with it the fine mist of rain that persisted in falling. The small beads of water mingled with the blood that spattered the remnants of splintered glass causing it to run downwards in rivulets, staining the remains of the windscreen. 

Wheezing slightly, Amanda prised her eyes open. She realised her hands were still clenched to the steering wheel, her grip so firm that her knuckles were drained of colour. Peeling her grasp away from the sticky leather she found that the prickly sensation of pins and needles instantly burst into life in her fingers, and with trembling arms she dropped her hands into her lap. 

Amanda did not move. 

She could feel a tremor running repeatedly through her body, and the ringing which echoed through her head was deafening. 

_I've killed him, she thought apathetically, her mind empty but for the image of the man lying spread-eagled in the road. _

The sound of moaning from the back of the jeep shook her from her reverie and she twisted in her seat, a blast of pain shearing through her shoulder as she did so. 

_Jesse! She thought frantically, clumsily trying to unbuckle herself from the vehicle. _

Finally managing to do so Amanda pulled at the door, her shaking hands struggling to grip the latch that would release her from the car. 

Clambering from the vehicle Amanda scurried to open the door, wrenching it hard enough to cause another bolt of pain to radiate through her shoulder. 

Emitting a whimper of discomfort Amanda paused for a moment, taken aback by the sight that met her eyes. 

She had had no chance to give warning of her actions. She hadn't really known herself what she was going to do until she had done it. 

No one in the back had been wearing seat belts. 

The jumble of bodies that littered the rubber matting of the floor was a visual image that Amanda knew she would never forget. 

Bodies twisted half on, half off the seats, squashed into the cramped space – neither Steve nor Jesse was moving. Mark appeared to be trying to extricate himself from the mass of intertwined arms and legs, a vibrant red bruise inflaming his left cheek. 

Unable to move herself Amanda watched for a moment, before pulling herself together enough to move forwards to help. 

"Mark!" She cried, stumbling forwards, arms outstretched. 

She leant into the vehicle, helping Mark to his knees. He struggled to find balance, but pulled away from her almost instantly. 

"Jesse…" He mumbled, stooping down again to tend him. 

"Mark..?" Amanda hesitated in questioning his findings, knowing what her actions may have led to. 

"There's still no pulse," Mark breathed frenetically. 

He began to edge backwards out of the vehicle, dragging Jesse with him. 

Amanda did her best to help, but Mark persisted in his actions, completely disregarding the assistance that was being offered, not through anger but blindly dogged determination. 

Jesse's body hung limply as he was pulled from the vehicle, showing no semblance of life. 

Mark held him beneath his arms and laid him as gently as he was able onto the wet road before kneeling beside him. 

Amanda stood back and watched, held again in a torpor that prevented her from springing into the action she knew was desperately needed. 

Mark again tipped Jesse's head back and sealed his nose before breathing deeply into his lungs. He worked quickly and efficiently, straightening up and locking his elbows before beginning compressions. 

Jesse's frail body jerked as Mark repeatedly pressed into his chest, again and again as his frame was pummelled. 

Amanda stood, entranced by the view of Mark trying to force life back into one of her best friends, the man who had delivered her first born child.

The rain, though fine, had successfully drenched her trembling body once again, and she pushed her sodden hair from her face. 

"Amanda, help me!" Mark turned his face to Amanda's, eyes pleading for her assistance. 

She dropped to her knees and positioned herself above Jesse, interlocking her fingers and taking over the compressions which had thus far been unsuccessful. 

"One, two, three…" She counted aloud in time with her movements, eyes focused on her laced fingers as she pressed down firmly into Jesse's chest. The degree of coldness that she felt beneath her fingers was startling; there was no more warmth in Jesse's skin than there was in the corpses she examined daily in her lab. 

"…eight, nine, ten." Amanda sat back onto her heels as Mark once again attempted to aerate Jesse's unwilling lungs. 

Resuming the compressions Amanda found her mind had cleared. All remorse and guilt had drained from her mind as she applied rhythmic pressure to Jesse's chest, focused entirely on the task at hand. 

The ritual continued in silence until Mark held out his hand to stop Amanda. Without speaking he placed his fingers to Jesse's neck to feel for a pulse. 

There was none. 

"_No!"_

Recommencing the breathing component of the CPR Mark looked expectantly at Amanda who obligingly began compressions again. 

Over and over they repeated the exercise, the minutes ticking past, and each search for a pulse generating the same disappointing results. 

"Dammit Jesse, don't you do this!" Mark lifted his hand high above Jesse's chest he slammed it vehemently into his body, a sickening crunch sounding almost as if in response to the thud the impact had made. 

A wave of nausea swelled into Amanda's throat as she realised Mark had just broken one or more of Jesse's ribs, and she recoiled in dismay. The violent attempt to restart Jesse's heart was an extreme measure, but Amanda knew it could work. 

"Mark..?"

He waved a hand in her face, demanding silence. 

Dispensing with the search for the pulse in the carotid artery Mark dropped his head to Jesse's chest and pressed his ear down to listen. 

The silence roared in his head, thunderous like the crashing of waves. 

And then a heartbeat. Dull and muffled, but a heartbeat. 

The sigh of relief that Mark emitted as he lifted his head was answer enough to Amanda's unspoken question. 

She sat back onto the road, ignoring the shock of cold that met her saturated clothing. Raising a trembling hand to her face she stifled a cry, tears cascading down her face. All composure was lost and she broke down in a cacophony of silent sobs. 


	35. Reprieve

The sun had risen fully yet remained hidden behind the murky slate sky, breaking through on the odd occasion as if to torment the people of LA with a glimpse of what they were missing. 

Jesse lay in the middle of the highway, his weak body shaking as he struggled to take in shuddering breaths. 

Mark knelt besides him, watching his chest rise and fall erratically, an unhealthy rasping noise emanating with every gruelling gasp. 

The noise, though alarming in its sheer incompatibility with anything that could be considered as healthy, came like music to Mark's ears. Each gasp signified Jesse's continued fight for life, and for that he was truly thankful. 

The adrenaline rush that had seen him through the preceding minutes drained away and Mark felt exhaustion so complete that he dared not attempt to move for fear of collapsing. Instead he sat, breathing deeply the morning air that held the promise of reviving his flagging energy levels with every inhalation. 

The fine mist of rain coloured his vision a speckled grey as he looked up the empty highway. The persistent lack of any traffic inferred to him that the flooded road had not yet been cleared, and that their journey, arduous though it was, was not yet at an end. 

The faint patter of rain as it hit the tarmac was all that could be heard on the long empty stretch of road until a muffled groaning noise startled Mark from his brooding ruminations. 

"Steve!" Mark dropped one hand to the ground and pushed himself up, ignoring the gritty handful of water which immediately coated his palm, focusing only on his hither to forgotten son. 

Mark clambered into the jeep, kneeling besides Steve in the cramped quarters of the back of the vehicle. 

"Steve?" Mark, his brow furrowed in consternation, bent low over his semi-conscious son, thoughts of self-recrimination and concern vying for space in his mind.

The immediacy of Jesse's plight had driven all else from his thoughts, and as such he had been blinded to Steve's needs. 

_You had to focus on Jesse,_ Mark reasoned to himself, _he would have died._

Mark knew these thoughts to be true, and his actions to be entirely justified. 

And yet the swell of guilt surged in his chest, weighing him down heavily. 

Skilled hands carefully probing Steve's twisted body, Mark examined his son. Gently searching, seeking out any abnormalities that would signify injury. 

Mark scrutinised Steve's face as he carried out his examination, looking for any changes in expression that would imply increased pain. Finding nothing untoward Mark turned his attention to trying to rouse Steve, to reassure himself that his lack of response was nothing more serious than the concussion he had already diagnosed. 

"Steve?" Having been satisfied that there were no spinal injuries Mark shook his recumbent son gently, but received no response greater than a muted groan. 

"Steve" Mark shook slightly harder than was perhaps necessary, but a combination of guilt and anxiety forced his hand in insisting in a reaction. 

A crinkled frown lined Steve's brow ever so slightly, and the volume of his groaning increased.

"Steve? Steve, can you hear me?" Mark agitated Steve's body again, and on the third occasion was rewarded with a bleary eyed squint as Steve finally began to stir. 

Releasing a deep sigh Mark briefly closed his eyes, a silent word of thanks passing through his mind and relief flooding his veins. The weight of guilt lifted slightly as Mark again looked down at his son, who blinked his eyes dazedly at the sudden influx of light. 

"mnmmnm." he mumbled incoherently, squinting slightly and continuing to blink back the blanket of confusion.

"Dad?" Steve managed to say, his lips sticking together dryly, his mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed with cotton wool. 

A smile broke out on Mark's face as he heard his son speak, his concern lessening at the single utterance.

"Steve, it's ok. Everything's going to be ok." Mark rested his hand onto Steve's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. 

"What happened?" Steve murmured, labouring to push himself up into a sitting position, the muscles in his one uninjured arm trembling at the exertion as he did so. A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and his head lolled forwards onto his chest.

"Whoa." he murmured, the head-rush making his motionless head feel as though the insides were continuing to move; a quite unpleasant sensation that gave his entire surrounding an unbalanced quality. 

Mark increased his grip on Steve's shoulder, providing a firm hand of support for his wavering son. 

"Ok?" Mark's simple question went unanswered for a few moments, during which time the wave of dizziness began to wane, allowing Steve time to stabilize himself to a point at which he felt able to shrug off his father's steadying hand. 

"Yeah, just dizzy." Steve met his father's eyes and attempted a conciliatory smile. 

"What hap. Where's Jesse?" The sudden expression of panic which flashed across Steve's face was quite alarming, and he snapped his head from side to side as if searching the cramped, and obviously empty, space for Jesse. 

The change in expression was again almost instantaneous, changing from one of concern to one of queasiness as the sudden movement prompted the swift return of the lingering giddiness. 

Steve retched, nausea heaving in his stomach. 

He pushed at his father, trying to clear him from his path, and Mark, recognising his son's urgency, quickly clambered out of the jeep. 

Steve scampered forwards out of the vehicle, staggering on unwilling legs away from the car. Retching again he hunched over and vomited, beads of perspiration peppering his forehead. 

Mark stood back watching Steve, absently shifting his weight from foot to foot; a dull ache in his lower back reminding him of his lack of sleep. He resisted the urge to rush forwards and fuss over his obviously suffering son, knowing too well Steve's dislike for attention whenever he was ill or injured. Instead he stayed back, his eyes flitting between the hunched form of his son, and the almost unmoving figure that was Jesse. The contrast between the two was stark, and his concern for each exhausting. 

The heaving sensation in his gut decreasing, Steve straightened up, gasping for breath. He wiped the back of a shaking hand across his lips, swallowing back the bitter taste that had been left in his mouth. 

 "Steve?" 

Amanda's voice came as a slight surprise to Steve who had been oblivious to his surroundings outside of the jeep. He turned slowly, acutely aware of the throbbing in his head, and looked for the location of the voice. 

Amanda had apparently been sitting in the road, but she appeared to be pulling herself to her feet. 

"Amanda? What.? Jesse?" 

Steve shifted slowly, holding his neck rigid and moving his body stiffly as one, stopping as his eyes came to rest on Jesse supine form. 

The shuddering labour of Jesse's chest had eased slightly but remained visible to the eye, and Steve took it in with a mixture of relief and concern. The movement was far from normal, yet instantly signified the fact that he was breathing, and the knot of concern that was clenched in the pit of his stomach slackened slightly. 

"It's a good job he's so stubborn." Mark had approached Steve from behind and rested a hand on his shoulder, trying lightly to reassure him. Jesse's good-natured tenacity was well remarked upon between the group, but Mark's attempt at light-hearted encouragement fell flat, and for a brief moment silence sat heavily between the three friends. 

The indistinct chatter of the light precipitation began to drum down slightly harder, tapping a noisy rhythm onto every surface that lay unsheltered from the rain, and it was this that spurred the weary Mark into action. 

"Come on," he said lifting his hand from Steve's taut shoulder, fatigue evident in his voice, "We have to keep moving, Amanda?" Walking past his son, and offering a half-hearted smile to Amanda as he indicated her help was required, Mark stiffly bent his body down to Jesse. 

Steve listened distractedly as Mark and Amanda debated the best way to move Jesse back to the jeep without further aggravating his injuries. Unable to assist he was instead captivated by the minute sound which had caught his attention. 

Peering up and down the desolate highway Steve looked for the source of the noise, wondering if perhaps it was resounding solely in his own head, a by-product of the numerous blows he had received that day. 

Shades of grey tinted the gloomy vista, gritty and bleak Steve suddenly felt very isolated. 

The sound was getting louder. 

_What was that noise?_

Steve screwed his eyes up against the rain. He mind still felt clogged with confusion, and he felt slowed and stupid. The storm clouded his vision, gusts of wind carrying the downpour sideways obscuring his gaze. 

From up the road a light had appeared, growing larger and more vibrant. 

Shining like a beacon through the murky half-light, headlights illuminated a path through the deluge. 

The ambulance had arrived.

Note: Hi everyone, hope you liked this chapter. Just a quick note to say sorry that the story is coming in slower than it used to - what can I say? Like most people I don't have the luxury of spending all of my time writing - a hazard of modern day living! I am writing as I go along, and if you want to bear with me the story will be completed. 

Thanks to everyone for the great reviews,

Sarah 


	36. Deliverance

Steve didn't move. He wondered for a moment if he was perhaps hallucinating, unable to believe what his eyes were clearly showing him. 

Steve opened his mouth to call to his father, but found no sound came out. He mouthed silently, watching as the ambulance drew nearer, the sound of his engine muffled by the increasingly howling wind. 

The glare from ever more dazzling headlights finally convincing him that the ambulance was not a figment of his wishful imagination, Steve made as if to turn to inform Mark and Amanda of the arrival of help, but found it unnecessary as Amanda dashed past him without a backwards glance. 

Watching for a moment as Amanda waved frantically, and quite unnecessarily, at the ambulance, Steve saw the large white vehicle slow to a stop. It had approached them from behind, from the opposite direction in which they had been travelling, and Steve's foggy mind wondered briefly at the fact. Unable however to work through the thought any further Steve turned and walked slowly away form the ambulance and towards his father who was still kneeling besides Jesse's seemingly motionless form. A strange sense of unreality seemed to permeate the entire atmosphere around him; after so many hours of desperately needing help it came across as almost crass that an ambulance should arrive so nonchalantly.

Steve stopped besides Mark, who turned a beaming face up towards him, relief evident in his broad smile. Steve returned it half-heartedly, an unpleasant grip of uncertainty tingling down his spine. 

He didn't know why, but he found he couldn't share his father's obvious delight, a pessimistic sense of dread settling over him instead. 

Allowing his gaze to settle on Jesse's pallid face he felt a renewed sense of guilt wash over him.

Whilst he was loathe to admit they were right, anyone who knew Steve for any length of time would be aware that he was possessed of a hero-complex that led to quite overstated feelings of guilt, usually quite incongruous to his actual level of responsibility. 

Pulling his gaze away Steve felt the familiar nagging discomfort that remorse always afforded him beginning to gnaw in his mind, recriminations whirling through his thoughts. 

Screwing up his eyes Steve rubbed gruffly at his face, weariness and pain fusing in an unpleasant union of discomfort. 

"Steve?" Mark peered up at his son, screwing his eyes up against the continuing downpour. 

Steve opened his eyes reluctantly and momentarily met his father's gaze, 

"I'm…" but what he was going to reply was left unsaid. 

A tall stocky man bustled to his side, a large bag clutched in one hand as he dropped effortlessly down to Jesse and began to examine him, offering Steve a fleeting consolatory smile as he did so. 

Steve moved back as Amanda came rushing forwards, a second paramedic at her heels. She spoke quickly, a stream of words emanating from her drawn lips as she motioned towards Jesse. A torrent of medical jargon interspersed with a caustic diatribe against the monster who had brought about the entire hellish evening. 

Steve took a further step back, distancing himself from the crowd of people. 

A peculiar deafness seemed to plug Steve's ears, muffling his hearing with a dull droning pitch that wooshed through his head. 

Steve felt sick, tired and miserable. His clothes hung wetly on his muscular frame, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, soaking him through yet again, for the umpteenth time that evening. 

A cold shiver tingled down his spine, and despite the endlessly open surroundings an immense sense of claustrophobia crashed in around him. 

His heart beating wildly against his ribs Steve strode past the huddle of bodies breathing heavily as he went, determinedly drawing himself away from the hub of activity that surrounded the increasingly diminutive appearance of Jesse's bloodied body. He could offer nothing by way of help after all. 

_I'd just be in the way. _

His mind racing again with thoughts of self-recrimination Steve found a particularly morose tirade against himself cut off by the sight which suddenly caught his attention. 

He hadn't seen it before; the angular position of the jeep obscuring the line of sight on which he now gazed. 

Absorbed in the spectacle which lay some distance from the haphazardly parked jeep Steve felt a deflated sense of revulsion swell in his chest. He knew at once what it was. 

With a fleeting look back at the paramedics, Steve saw that a transparent oxygen mask had been placed above Jesse's mouth, the stocky paramedic holding a small flashlight above his face. 

Drawing his head back to road ahead Steve slowly moved further away from the others he walked carefully toward the shape which lay lifeless, skewed across the highway. 

Taking no heed of the rain which was now pounding quite ferociously onto his face, Steve focused his attention entirely on the pool of red that surrounded the man's head. It increased in circumference even as he watched it; fat droplets of rain splashing crimson beads back up into the air, the clear water mingling to create a growing slick of diluted blood. 

Stepping warily so as to avoid contact with the puddle of the man's blood, Steve came to a stop directly above him. He allowed his gaze to travel to the man's face. 

His eyes were open; unblinking, fixed. 

There was no life behind them. 

_He's dead_, Steve thought, unadulterated pleasure sparking at the concept. _He's finally dead._

Steve knew he should not feel satisfaction at death, but nonetheless felt no guilt for it. 

_He deserved it_, he thought vindictively. 

His eyes trained on the man's expressionless, bloodied face, Steve thought for a brief moment of the numerous horror films he had seen in his life.

_This is usually where the psychopath springs back to life_, Steve involuntarily shuddered. He had never liked those films. 

The thought lingering however brought a slight uneasiness to his mind. 

Extending a foot Steve carefully prodded the man, the slight movement causing his head to roll slightly. 

His face remained still, a slight trickle of blood running from a partially-clotted gash in his forehead. 

Steve continued to survey the man, satisfied that he was indeed dead, and taking in his deathly pallor and sunken eyes. 

And then they blinked. 

"God damn it!"

Steve could not help but shout out in shock. He leapt backwards, a tight band of muscles contracting around his head. 

Slipping slightly in the bloody water Steve strove to remain upright. He flailed his arms and braced himself for the pain he knew would shoot through him when he hit the hard tarmac, but finally, mercifully, managed to regain his balance. 

A soft moaning noise carried up on the storm wind from the man's bloody mouth, his mask-like face still and waxy, it was only his eyes that alluded to any trace of life. 

His eyes rolled slightly and came to rest on Steve's face, locking him with an intense gaze. The man's eyes were startlingly empty, a void of watery insipidness. 

Steve stared into them, horrified that the man was still alive. 

"Steve?" The call from behind Steve washed over him as if he hadn't heard it. 

Mark looked up from Jesse, a newly erected intravenous drip clutched in Amanda's hands as she gazed down at the paramedics as they worked. A vibrant red blanket had been wrapped around Jesse's body, and although he was the nucleus of activity he remained dead to the world. 

Mark had heard what he thought was a yell, although the sheer volume of the wind that whipped past his ears planted a seed of uncertainty in his mind. 

Seeing Steve standing some distance away, his back to them, Mark frowned. His concern torn between his son and the critically injured Jesse. Mark knew that whilst Jesse wounds were obvious and noticeable, Steve too, well apart from his concussion and broken wrist, had deeper troubles brewing beneath the surface. 

Mark was yearning to do more to help Jesse – his professional impulses instinctively coming to the fore – but he knew there was little he could do at present; the paramedics were quite capable of providing the immediate care that Jesse needed and he knew his continued interference would probably prove to be only disruptive. 

Mark looked back down at Jesse, extremely hesitant about leaving his side. He knew how close Jesse had come to dying, and that the battle to keep him alive had not yet ended. But the concern for his son was great. 

"Amanda?" Mark found he had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the wind. Amanda looked up; her head moving in a juddering fashion as she pulled her gaze away from Jesse. She seemed to have regained her equanimity and was now channelling her entire attention onto Jesse. 

"I'd better check on, you know…" Mark motioned towards Steve. The slight guilt he felt at leaving Jesse for even a moment evident in his tone; he couldn't help the apologetic note from seeping into his voice. 

With a last look at the insentient Jesse Mark turned his attention to his son. 

Tipping his head down against the rain, Mark found he had to push himself against the force of the wind that resolutely strove to compel him backwards. The storm had worsened in the past few minutes, and the concern that their journey to the hospital might yet be further impeded by the horrendous weather niggled in the back of his mind. 

Inclining his head up as far as he dared Mark snatched a glance at Steve. The renewed torrent of rain obscured his vision almost entirely, pearls of water pelting his skin with such ferocity that it felt as if a thousand beestings were biting into his face. 

The brief glance however was enough to show him what it was that apparently had Steve so absorbed. He was standing only a few feet from the crumpled form of a figure lying in the road. Mark had not noticed it before – his attention wholly consumed by his efforts to sustain Jesse's life and care for his son. An unpleasant combination of shock and relief fought for dominance in a mind so overwhelmed that there was little room left or any compassion or pity. 

Deep lines creased Mark's face as a tumultuous sense of turmoil swamped his mind. The man's absence had barely registered to Mark – his alarm at Jesse's dire state such that all else had been driven from his mind. 

_Including Steve_, Mark thought guiltily. 

Seeing the man lying in the road though, Mark could not deny that it came as a blessed relief. Whilst he was adamant that the man should receive punishment, his apparent death in the road meant an end to the prospect of a protracted case against the man who had inflicted such anguish and harm on them all. 

Mark screwed his eyes up against the downpour and pressed forwards; the short distance Steve had walked taking far longer than should have been necessary. 

"Steve?" Mark literally had to shout, his words despite their volume muffled to even his own ears. But again Steve failed to respond in any way. 

Reaching out a hand to his son's shoulder Mark touched him lightly. 

The reaction was immediate and intense. 

Steve whirled around, one arm pitched violently upwards as if striking out against an attacker. 

Mark reeled backwards. He had not received the full force of the blow, but had been thrown off kilter by the unexpected show of aggression. A dull throbbing pain diffused through his hip, aching deeply into the muscle where he had twisted so suddenly. 

Steve staggered slightly, his balance barely having recovered from the shock of seeing the man's eyes boring into his own. 

He had not expected to be touched; had not been aware of his father's approach. 

"Dad?!" Steve gasped his father's name in surprise, a sickening jolt of shock resounding in his stomach. 

"Dad, I…" Steve let his voice trail off, a flood of guilt washing through his veins. The look of bewilderment on his father's face was absolute, as was the tidal wave of shame that was yet again revived in Steve's mind. 

Seeing the look of horrified remorse on Steve's face Mark forced the grimace on his own face into as much of a smile as he could manage, a pulsating pain boring through his leg. 

"Steve… are you ok?" Mark's voice was carried into the wind, dissipated into the atmosphere and away from the ears of its intended recipient. 

Steve could feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest, so hard that it reverberated through his ribs and down into his stomach. The acrid taste of bile burnt at the back of his throat, bitter and caustic. 

Steve stared at his father, a feeling of enormous pressure mounting in his head, reaching such a crescendo that it felt as if it could explode at any moment. Steve raised one hand to his temple and pressed into it, trying to push away the pain. 

"Steve?" Mark took a step closer, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through his hip. 

Steve turned back to the man, looking down into his pouchy, pasty face. He felt sick and disorientated, confusion snaking through his mind. 

"He's alive." Steve mumbled the words but Mark could see his lips moving as he spoke, and whilst he far from considered himself as a skilled lip-reader, he thought he had caught what Steve had said. 

Moving to stand besides Steve Mark looked down into the face of the man. His mouth lolled open, gaping stupidly as droplet after droplet of rain water pooled in his mouth, a sickening gagging sound choking from the back of his throat. 

With a jerk of comprehension Mark realised that the broken heap of a man that lay in the middle of the waterlogged highway was undeniably still alive. Still alive and choking. 

After a moment of indecision Mark bent to the man, a spasm of pain griping in his hip. Mark stifled a moan and carefully began to appraise the man's condition. 

He was injured; badly injured. Mark could identify multiple fractures throughout the man's body by eye alone, not least the compound fracture to his leg – white bone protruding jaggedly through a ragged laceration in his mid-shin. 

Placing his hands to either side of the man's neck Mark began to palpate the area, feeling for any signs of neck injury. Gently exploring the bony ridges of his neck Mark probed as delicately as he could, knowing that any adverse moves could potentially prove fatal, yet knowing that to leave him unmoved would undoubtedly be leaving him to drown. 

A brusque hand on his shoulder jarred Mark's movements and he flinched backward.

"Steve! What are you doing?" Mark twisted his head around to look at his son, and found himself face to face with the indignant countenance of his son. 

"What am _I_ doing? What the hell are you doing?!" Steve shouted the words down to his father, a combination of anger and infuriation mingling to increase the volume of his voice more than was necessary. 

Mark looked into Steve's face, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in his behaviour.

"I'm just checking his neck" Mark called back, trying to be heard over the howling of the wind, annoyance sparking at the interruption. 

Steve continued to glare at him.

"Why can't you just _leave _him?!" Steve's face contorted into a hostile expression, a far cry from his usually handsome features, his voice a strangled mix of tortured exasperation and plain old maddened anger. 

Mark understood in an instant. The earlier dispute over whether to leave the man's bloodied, bullet-riddled body back at the beach house had resurfaced, as had Steve's obvious desire to see the man left for dead. 

Mark turned his face away from Steve's. He had decided earlier that he would do all he could to ensure the man faced the punishment he deserved. If had been dead and there was nothing that could have been done… 

_Then he would have got what he deserved_, a nasty, but truthful, voice whispered in the back of his mind. 

Setting his face in determination Mark turned back to face his son. 

"He has to pay…" Mark allowed his voice to trail off, to be snatched away from him into the stormy gale. 

He turned his attention back to the man, doggedly ignoring the yells of dissent that Steve issued from behind him. 

With due care Mark manoeuvred the man into the recovery position, a gush of water and blood dribbling from his mouth as he was rolled onto his side. 

Mark stood from man's side, acutely aware of the muscle that encircled his hip as it twanged another reminder of the strain it had received. 

Steve stood stony faced, glaring at his father. 

"Happy now?" He literally spat the words, angry at his dad and himself. 

"No." Mark responded in a tempered voice. He had taken no pleasure in touching the man, let alone having the objectionable honour of, at least for the meanwhile, saving his life. 

Deciding that he had given enough of his time to the man Mark strode away and back toward Jesse; a feeling of impurity contaminating his hands as he tried to wipe the blood from his palms. 

For a moment Steve did not move. The immense anger he had felt seconds earlier had left him, a feeling of hollow emptiness settling inside him instead. 

Steve looked down at the man, his saturated clothing clinging to his gaunt frame. He looked small and pathetic, his eyes now closed almost as if he were sleeping. It was hard to image how someone who appeared so haggard could possibly have catalysed such a nightmarish series of events. 

Lifting his gaze away from the man Steve glanced up in the direction his father had gone. Countless halos of light flared out from the ambulance's headlights, blazing into the murky, rain-swept twilight. 

With a heavy sense of dread and regret Steve made his way towards his friends, leaving the man lying in the road, alone. 


	37. Hope

During his absence Mark found that Jesse had been transferred to a stretcher, his body looking humble and pitiful as he was bound to the gurney by strips of wide acrylic tape.

Amanda stood to one side of the stretcher, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she overlooked the proceedings, the strain of worry showing on her face.

"We've stabilised his condition as much as we can, but we really need to get moving…" The stocky paramedic who had first attended Jesse spoke in a soft voice that was curiously mismatched with his heavyset appearance.

Mark recognised the man; he was quite certain that they had met before in the emergency room, but Mark could not bring a name to mind.

"Thank you…?"

"Robson," the paramedic replied with a reassuring smile. Surveying the older man, a much respected doctor he had had dealings with many times in the ER, he could see tension clearly etched into his face, his complexion grey and tired. Not only that but he had detected a telltale limp as the doctor had walked back from the side of the younger man.

"Dr. Sloan, are you injured?" Greg Robson appraised the doctor, his white hair gummed to his head, a slight shiver running through his body. He looked wretched.

Unable to hold back the exhaustion that unbeknown to him was obvious to all those who surveyed him, Mark smiled wearily.

"I'm fine." He replied, not intentionally lying but rather attempting to dismiss what he perceived as an unnecessary inquiry.

Accepting the response for what it was Robson did not pry further.

He turned instead back to the blonde doctor – another face familiar from Community General.

To say he was shocked when he had originally seen the state him would have been an understatement. The vibrancy of the red blood which saturated both his clothing and his body contrasted starkly to the sheer whiteness of his pallid face, and his respirations had been barely detectable.

The distinct crackle of radio static chinked its chorus into the racket of rain patter that his the murky highway, and Robson turned his attention back to his partner.

"Lets get moving – we've got another shout," Tom Meadowcroft called, his lithe frame appearing as he slid from the driver's seat of the ambulance. Jogging casually to join his colleague at the side of their charge, Tom motioned to Greg to prepare Jesse for the short transit to the waiting ambulance.

Amanda looked on as the paramedics lifted the stretcher-bound Jesse swiftly into the air, their motions perfectly in unison as they strode toward the yellow glare of the lit ambulance.

Leaving Steve and Amanda standing side by side Mark followed behind the two paramedics without a word, his mind occupied by a stream of thoughts.

Stopping at the open doors Mark watched as Jesse was lifted skilfully into the ambulance and his body strapped down. Despite knowing the severity of Jesse's injuries he could not help but be concerned by the total lack of awareness Jesse was showing of what was happening; showing no sign of discomfort through his unconsciousness even as a strap was tied across his bloodied abdomen.

Recognising this ominous sign did nothing to quell the unease he felt at what he next planned on saying.

"Greg?" Mark spoke hesitantly, half trying to convince himself not to go through with his decided course of action.

The thought of Jesse's urgent journey to the hospital being delayed in order to salvage what little life remained of his attacker was no less than nauseating, yet Mark knew he could not willingly walk away from an injured human – no matter what their crime.

Steve stood in the road besides Amanda, swaying slightly on his feet. He blinked repeatedly as he tried to force his eyes into focusing. Despite the haziness of his vision and the muggy disorientation that lingered in his head there was no doubt in his mind as to what his father was doing. With a rising tide of anger and disbelief he watched as Mark motioned toward the man in the road, his lips moving rapidly as he spoke.

Sure enough, the shorter of the two paramedics emerged from the back of the ambulance carrying a stretcher. He jogged over to the bloodied man and bent to him.

Steve turned away, disgusted that precious moments were being taken from Jesse and sickened that his father had been the one to orchestrate it to happen.

Turning his gaze instead to his father Steve found that he was being watched. Mark's eyes bored into his own but the link was broken almost at once; Mark turning his head away with an inscrutable expression on his face.

Steve, his gaze lingering on his father, felt some of his anger slip away. Mark, renowned for vigour and energy that belied his true age, looked worn and haggard.

Steve stepped forwards but stopped as the taller of the two paramedics dashed in front of him. Steve turned and watched his progress.

The paramedics worked swiftly but carefully on the man; tending his battered body with consideration that he did not deserve.

Steve felt a renewed wave of anger swell through his body. He wiped his sodden hair from his face and heaved a breath. His chest felt tight and hollow and he found it hard to take a breath deep enough to satisfy his constricted lungs. Dropping his slightly trembling arm he massaged his chest, trying to force some warmth into his chilled body.

The minutes passed slowly. Amanda glanced down at her watch as she hovered by the open ambulance door, glancing compulsively back and forth between Jesse and the paramedics.

Mark stood several feet away from the ambulance and Steve some distance beyond that. The void between them – both figurative and literal – was palpable.

Amanda tried to shake off the nagging discomfort that immediately registered in her mind at seeing the Steve and Mark separated as they were and turned her attention back to Jesse.

The stark whiteness of the ambulance's interior seemed garish to the stormy bleakness outside, and the ghostly pallor of Jesse's face seemed only to be heightened by the harsh light.

"Heads up!"

Amanda heard the shout from behind her and turned, stepping swiftly to one side when she saw the man who had attacked Jesse being carried toward the ambulance on a stretcher.

She watched as he was lifted into the back of the vehicle besides Jesse, and swallowed back the hard lump that had formed in her throat. She glanced furtively at Steve, the expression of utmost revulsion on his face apparent even through the driving rain.

Turning to look at Mark she started when she found he had approached her without her notice.

"Mark!" Amanda clapped a hand to her chest, "You scared me… what is it?"

Taking in the drawn greyness of Mark's face Amanda was troubled by what she saw.

"Mark?"

He merely smiled at her but remained silent, interlinking his arm with hers and squeezing slightly as if in reassurance. Mark turned his face back to the ambulance where the attacker was now being fitted with an oxygen mask and drips.

Amanda did not push for a response but returned the embrace. Whilst it was true that she was distressed by his apparent melancholy, she was relieved at his reluctance to voice his worries – she didn't think she could handle anything more quite yet.

Steve walked closer to the ambulance, stumbling slightly as he tripped over his own misplaced feet. Nearing the vehicle he saw his father and Amanda standing together facing the open doors. He faltered, torn between his desire to check on Jesse and his malcontent at seeing the attacker in such close proximity to his innocent and gravely ill friend.

The desire to check on Jesse won through, and putting his unease to one side Steve took the last few steps to bring the interior of the ambulance into view.

He stopped behind his father and Amanda, their shoulders framing his line of sight.

If possible, Steve found, Jesse looked paler. His usually animated features were sunken into his motionless face and he looked almost spectral in the artificial yellow light.

Steve swallowed back his rising concern, agitated by the dire appearance of his closest friend. He felt a surge of anger pitch through his consciousness once again, but said nothing.

The dilemma did not occur to any of the group until the moment it arose. With both Jesse and his attacker stretcher bound in the back of the ambulance and the two paramedics taking their places as driver and carer respectively, space for the remaining three was limited. Cold and aching with tiredness Mark recognised the situation as soon as Greg had climbed into the back of the ambulance. With a sinking feeling of disbelief Mark turned to Steve and Amanda, wondering if either had realised that it was only feasible for one of them to find a place in the ambulance.

Meeting Amanda's red, swollen eyes Mark considered for a moment what would be the best course of action, but found that no solution came easily to his exhausted mind. The extent of Steve's injuries were such that they certainly warranted him the available space, but Mark couldn't help but be concerned that if Jesse's condition should deteriorate further he may not receive the full attention of the attending paramedic torn between victim and attacker.

"Dr. Sloan?" Greg's face peered out from the back of the ambulance to the bedraggled huddle of the rain-soaked three.

"I've had Tom radio for a police car to come pick you up – they'll want to talk to you anyhow…

We can take one of you now?" Greg allowed the question to trail off. Much as he was loath to leave any of the stricken group on the deserted highway there was no way all would fit into the ambulance without severely hindering his ability to tend the two casualties, unorthodox as it already was.

Mark glanced again at Amanda, catching sight of Steve standing behind them, taking in the look of frustrated perturbation of Amanda's countenance and the glassy-eyed disorientation of Steve's pain-lined face.

"Steve, we'll see you at the hospital soon." Mark extricated his arm from Amanda and stepped to one side, clearing a path for Steve. Mark placed a hand on his son's shoulder and gently nudged him closer to the ambulance before turning his attention to the waiting paramedic.

"Don't pay any attention to his protests - make sure he sees a doctor." Mark forced a smile. He watched wordlessly as Steve hesitated by the ambulance, willing his all too-forthright son not to argue.

With a momentary glimpse back at his father Steve walked the few steps to the passenger door and climbed unsteadily in.

With a heavy heart Greg Robson leant out of the back of the ambulance and seized the doors. Glancing briefly at the aged doctor and the somewhat familiar face of his female companion Greg felt a stab of compassion. Pulling the doors closed, he heard a renewed crash of thunder splinter the steely sky, and as the doors met their stricken faces disappeared from view.

As the engine of the ambulance grumbled into life Steve turned his face to the window. The highway was slick with water; pools of grey reflecting the beam of headlights back up into the granite sky. Peering round as far as he could Steve caught a glimpse of his father, Amanda statue-like by his side. Neither moved as the ambulance forged onwards, their faces fixed on the retreating vehicle, and as a fork of lightening pierced the clouds, the heavens opened in a renewed deluge.

Mark and Amanda stood side by side watching the advancing ambulance until the last thread of the fading taillights were consumed by the eerie morning twilight. Seemingly oblivious to the driving rain, they made no effort to seek shelter, each instead absorbed with their own macabre thoughts. A further minute passed before Mark gently placed his hands on Amanda's arm.

"Come on, we'd better get back in the jeep."

Amanda, her head still trained on the empty vista nodded mutely, and together they turned and began the few steps back to the meagre shelter offered by the damaged jeep.

But for the incessant pounding of the rain against the tarmac, the highway was silent. An opalescent fog, washed up from the ocean, had insidiously crept up on them and now drifted lazily about their feet obscuring their path as they unknowingly stepped through the many rivulets of rain-diluted blood left as token of the attacker's presence.

Climbing into the back of the jeep, both Mark and Amanda took instinctively to the floor. The back seat, stained with Jesse's blood, met the eye-line of both; a grim reminder of the friends desperate state.

An unspoken tension resonated between the pair as they sat in silence, weighted by the burden of their absent friends and the trials that were yet to face them.

Without speaking Amanda rested her head onto Mark's shoulder, finding the solidity and warmth reassuring more than any words, and together they say, and waited.

The journey passed in a blur of lights and noise. Even at this early hour, the city streets were clogged with traffic as early morning commuters and late night stragglers took to their cars in an attempt to escape the deluge that continued to assault the LA.

Steve peered blearily out of the window of the ambulance as they hastened onwards, blinking back the graininess that lingered in his sore eyes. As tired and confused as he undeniably felt, he was grateful for the relative quiet that prevailed in the back of the ambulance. But for the occasional trickle of beeping monitors over the sound of the blazing sirens, the journey thus far had passed without incident.

Steve rolled his neck gently, trying to ease the stiffness that gripped his shoulders, but stopped as a wave of dizziness flushed through his head.

Steve squeezed his eyes closed as a bolt of nausea churned in his stomach, and he fought against the impulse to vomit.

Steve opened his eyes gingerly and took a long shuddering breath through his nose as his fathered had coached him on countless occasions as a travel-sick child. Gazing at the stream of oncoming traffic Steve swallowed back the acrid bile that burnt at his throat, thoughts of his father and Amanda swimming into his head.

_They'll be OK_, he insisted to himself taking in the halo of light that seemed to surround each and every beam that exuded from the numerous vehicles' headlamps.

_A squad car will pick them up, they'll meet us at the hospital…_

Despite his silent self-assurances Steve couldn't completely quell the disquiet that gnawed at him; his tormented mind wandering wilfully from petty reflections on the severed weather to wild fretting about unseen predators much akin to the man ensconced behind him.

The roaring of the siren drilled through the morning air, making itself heard even above the claps of thunder that repeatedly erupted in laden sky. With each rotation a haze of blue light streamed momentarily across the vista, casting a ghostly shadow across everything it touched.

Steve watched on groggily, barely aware of his surroundings. He was on the verge of injury induced sleep when a snowy white building caught his attention.

Community General had never appeared so majestic to Steve. Rising illustriously above the surrounding buildings, Steve was accustomed to the sight of the hospital, having cause to visit it for one reason or another on most days.

For Steve, a trip to Community General was usually borne out of the need to either consult or reprimand his father about a case, depending of course on the legitimacy of his involvement. On the occasion when he was injured, which, as far as Steve was concerned, was far too frequent for his liking, entering the hospital generally entailed pain, suffering and a fair degree of embarrassment.

But this was different.

Even through the sheets of driving rain, the hospital was a far more welcome sight than Steve could have imagined.

The tension easing in his shoulders a little, Steve turned his head and peered as best he could into the back of the ambulance.

His view of Jesse ended almost entirely at the mop of mud-streaked blonde hair that topped his head, but even from this vantage-point he could gauge the severity of his friend's condition, so still was his small frame.

As the ambulance turned into the grounds of the hospital, Steve felt a swell of dread.

Whatever would happen, it would happen now.

_Note_: I just wanted to say I'm sincerely sorry for the huge lapse between chapters being posted. I could offer a list of reasons (true I might add) as to why I haven't been able to write so often but it doesn't excuse such a wait. I hope there are still people out there willing to give my story time – it is finally complete (yay!) – so, barring nuclear disaster or something equally as catastrophic, I _promise_ this story will be posted in its entirety within the next few days.

Thanks for your patience,

Sarah.


	38. Salvage

"Caucasian male, late twenties early thirties, single stab wound to the abdomen, upper left quadrant."

Tom Meadowcroft's voice rang clear through the ambulance bay to the waiting trauma team.

"BP is 70 over 50, pulse 120, GCS 5 on arrival."

The moment the wheels of the gurney hit the floor, they were moving.

"Airway is clear, patient is on one hundred percent O2 by mask. Two venous lines started in transit – he's had 2 litres normal saline."

Extricating the gurney from the huddle of people amassed in the bay, Jesse's attendants forged through the doors and into the hospital, leaving the second trauma team to deal with the ambulance's remaining occupant.

"Evidence of massive bleeding and hypovolemic shock, multiple abrasions across the abdomen and chest, signs of obvious hypothermia."

The veneer of quiet that belied the never-ending hub of activity seething beneath the surface of the ER was instantly shattered as Jesse was wheeled passed cubicles housing an assortment of storm-associated accidents and injuries.

"First aid applied by attending doctor on scene."

The paramedic was cut off as the gurney pitched to a stop, the most senior doctor barking commands to her awaiting colleagues.

"Everyone ready? On my count, one, two, three!"

No one needed ask to what she was referring, well accustomed as they were to the drill carried out for every patient brought in to the trauma room.

Jesse was lifted fluidly from one gurney to the other, a small trail of blood marking the transfer.

Their job all but complete Tom Meadowcroft and Greg Robson stepped back, observing the proceedings with some consternation, well aware as they were of the severity of their patient's condition.

"Christ!... Is that Travis?" The shorter of the two doctors peered questioningly around his colleagues' faces as if seeking confirmation of his finding.

For the briefest of moments silence fell in the room.

Each member of the team paused to survey the face of the patient who had been brought in in such a dire condition, recognising him as one of their own before reverting almost instantaneously back to their professional manner.

"Get those wet clothes off of him, we need to bring his temperature up. Abdomen is distended and rigid, looks like the blade penetrated the peritoneal cavity. Severe bruising to the anterior abdominal wall, possible rib fractures… swelling around the thyroid cartilage, potential tracheal injury. Book an OR, lets roll him. Everyone got a bit? One, two, three."

Jesse was rolled carefully to one side, every inch of his body supported as the doctor examined his back.

"Some minor bruising and abrasions to the left flank, looks like he took one hell of a beating. Back on three, two, one,"

The doctor counted again the seamless motion of the team's action, and Steve watched on as Jesse's head lolled uncontrolled against the white-sheeted gurney.

"Core temperature is 92.40F."

"Get me two units of 0-neg and type and cross-match for six. I need a trauma panel, ABG, haematocrit, Chem 7 and a coag panel. Prep the rapid infuser and hang a bag of warm saline, we need to reverse the hypothermia if we're going to save him."

"What the hell is this?" One of the attending doctors lifted the tube that protruded from Jesse chest, his face open in bewilderment.

"A chest drain." Robson stepped forwards as he offered this explanation for the strange sight, catching the eye of the obviously taken aback doctor. "Dr. Sloan must have…"

"Mark Sloan?"

"Yeah…"

"Get that thing out of there; god knows what infection it's put in."

The doctor, his eye level dropped to that of Jesse's bloodied body began extricating the makeshift chest tube slowly, fearful of any damage the mock-up apparatus may have caused. He examined the device closely as he removed it, tracing its path as it snaked into the patient's lung and could not help but marvel at the ingenuity of it. Dispensing with any concerns over its shoddy appearance, the doctor noted to himself that the device, and the person who had inserted it, had no doubt played a significant role in saving Jesse Travis's life thus far.

"Airway looks clear, good breath sounds on the right but poor air entry on the left, start a central line and get me a number 9 ET tube."

The shorter doctor bent low over Jesse's face, extending his neck as he gently opened his jaw.

"Insert a Foley, what's his rhythm?"

"Normal sinus rhythm, pulse is 130 BP down to 62 over 40."

"Damn, we need to get his pressure up. Where's that type specific!?" The tall doctor barked, shooting a ferocious glare at a nearby nurse who responded by scurrying to chase-up the lab.

"I need some crichoid pressure!"

There was tense moment as the doctor tried to insert to insert the intubation tube, his face fixed in concentration, the brief respite of activity broken only by the re-emergence of the nurse, a stainless-steel tray of blood bags clutched in her hands.

"I'm in, bag him."

The scene of perfectly organised chaos recommenced at once, the mass of hands working in unison as Jesse's failing body was attended to.

Stethoscope pressed purposefully to Jesse's chest, the shorter of the two doctors listened intently,

"Good air entry bilaterally."

"BP is still falling doctor."

"God damn it! Can't you squeeze that blood in any faster?"

"He's losing it faster than we can push it in, doctor." The nurse responded with a scowl, only the fleeting crack in her voice betraying her concern for her colleague.

In the corner of the room, a phone rang. A nurse, her pastel scrubs stained with blood, answered. She listened silently for a moment before replacing the handset, her expression grim.

"Labs are back, blood pH is 8 and haematocrit is 30"The taller doctor paused momentarily, apparently considering his next move.

"Hang another unit of warm saline and get the heating pads, we need to warm him _now_."

Steve lingered in the background, hovering uncertainly, a silent observer to the flurry of activity that was unfurling in front of him.

Whilst he was somewhat accustomed to the complexities of medical jargon, seeing as it was, his father and two closest friends were doctors, Steve could barely begin to understand the stream of technicalities that fired back and forth between Jesse's physicians.

Watching wordlessly Steve could feel his heart pounding uncomfortably in his throat, his eyes trained as if mesmerized by the scene; the rapidity of which made him dizzy.

Within a moment much of Jesse's body was enveloped in what resembled to Steve a large sheet of aluminium foil, an unwarranted memory of his childhood games of make-believe astronauts sparking curiously in his mind.

The sound of the heart monitor, the one thing singularly more tangible than any of the words vying for comprehension in Steve's mind, pitched suddenly into a chaotic rhythm, rapid and unnatural the machine literally seemed to squeal in protest.

"He's in v-fib!"

The tension seemed to mount yet further, palpable like a wave of electricity pulsing through the room.

"Starting compressions" the tall, nameless doctor, his arms locked rigidly, began to rhythmically depress Jesse's chest, his face set in determination as he silently counted off the beats.

"Push an amp of epi, stopping compressions."

The doctor raised his arms as if to demonstrate his compliance with his companion's request.

The frenetic rhythm continued unabated.

Without waiting, the tall doctor stooped again and resumed compressions.

"Push another amp of epi" His words came haltingly, stuttered in time to the rhythm he was beating onto Jesse's lifeless chest.

"He's in asystole"

The sound of the monitor had changed. No longer a tempo of haphazard beats, it now discharged a monotonous, pitched squeal that spawned a flat green line across the screen of the monitor.

"Let's shock him. Charge to 260"

Steve stood rooted to the spot, a sickening fist clamping in his chest that made it hard to draw breath. The sheer weight of his helplessness came pressing down on him and he could feel the blood draining from his face, an icy dread creeping through his fingers.

He could not breath, his lungs whispering pitifully in protest as he watched the awful scene unfolding in front of his eyes, powerless to stop it. Steve's vision began to blur, a strange darkness that clouded his vision as the hazy images began to swim.

Steve could feel himself falling, mildly aware of the cold, hard floor's unforgiving surface as his body hit it, and the fresh wave of pain that washed through his injured wrist.

The disorder of voices muddled to his ears, and as the cool blanket of obscurity claimed his senses, the sound of an electrical charge whining as it pulsed through Jesse's body faded away, and he knew no more.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

An untold amount of time had elapsed before Steve awoke to find himself in what, even to his foggy head, was unmistakably a hospital room. The astringent scent of disinfectant permeated even his unconscious, stirring his senses and dragging him back into the realms of consciousness.

He lay still for a moment, contented in the warmth of the bed, at ease all but for the vague ache that lay behind his eyes.

He tried to recall what might have occurred to mandate his presence once again in a hospital bed. Steve found however, that even the comparatively simple process of thought seemed to provoke the ache in his head, inciting it into a vicious, rhythmic pounding. He raised his hand to his face, seeking to soothe the pain that reverberated through his temples, but found – to his cost – his arm firmly encased in a plaster cast, pure and white in its newness. His right arm, Steve found, offered no greater hope of use, restrained as it was by the length of tubing that snaked from the back of his hand and up into a half-empty IV bag.

_What?_ Steve thought dazedly, _what on earth happened?_

He remembered being at the beach house… in the kitchen. He was making dinner, he knew that much.

Steve nestled his head back into the pillow, entreating solace from its softness and warmth, but finding it did nothing to ease the pain that was building in his head.

_My head!_ The memory came to him, and for a brief moment offered explanation.

_Head in the fridge, rifling through packets and jars… "Dad, do you know where I put the dip for the chips?" A sharp pain across the top of his head._

But surely that wasn't significant enough to land him in here? And it certainly did nothing to explain his arm…

_What happened after that?_

Steve fought hard against the fatigue that clawed at his senses, dredging another memory to the surface.

_Rain… cold, dark... muddy footprints…_

Steve knew he was on the edge of a precipice, the memories he sought hanging tantalisingly close, just beyond his reach.

It was the vague sense of unease that returned to him first, caressing a cool touch across his skin and chilling him to the core.

Something terrible had happened, and as this realisation dawned on him the fatigue was replaced by the desperate urgency to find out what it was that had transpired.

With renewed clarity and determination, Steve lifted himself onto his elbows, a deep ache flaring in his back, making it known that however he had sustained his injuries, his wrist and head had not been alone in their suffering.

The room was sparsely furnished and gleaming in sterility. The blinds were drawn leaving Steve uncertain as to whether it was night or day, and the door shut, cutting him off from the rest of the hospital. Totally isolated.

The absence of his father in the plastic chair that sat unoccupied besides the bed spoke volumes to Steve, accustomed as he was to Mark's usual protective attentiveness, and regardless of the force with which he decried its necessity, he could not deny his despair at the lack of his father's comforting presence now, when he needed it most.

Breathing slowly, Steve raised himself further, struggling against the pain blazing throughout his body and the rising nausea that bit at his throat.

With some difficulty Steve managed to balance himself into a sitting position, teetering tenuously as the room swam in and out of focus.

_It was raining, cold… someone in the darkness…_

Steve's heart began to pound sickeningly in his chest, the weight of an unseen threat pressing in on him.

Where was his father? Had something happened to him? Was that why the chair remained mockingly empty? And where were Jesse and Amanda? Surely they would fill him in on what was going on. Why was he in here, alone?

Questions filled Steve's head, fighting for prominence as his blood pounded in his ears.

Where were they? Where were his dad, Amanda and Jesse?

_Jesse…_

The memory his Steve with a force he never thought possible, as physically painful as a fist colliding with his stomach.

_Oh god, Jesse…_

The memory filtered freely through his mind, every grim detail played out with him as its private audience, flooding through his head, each scene in all its horrible glory.

The sound of the defibrillator paddles as they had whimpered into life, whining its uniquely electric timbre.

Steve wrenched the white sheets from his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

All trace of dizziness gone, the adrenaline coursing through his veins compelled him forwards.

His fingers clumsy, Steve ripped the IV from his hand, the sting of pain and trickle of blood going unnoticed as he stood.

The room wavered unsteadily as Steve stood besides the bed, blinking furiously against the haze of darkness that crept into his vision.

Determination however drove him onwards, and Steve staggered the few steps to the door, reaching out for it and clinging urgently for support.

He turned and leant against it for a moment, eyeing the hazy sight of his bed; the subtle hollow in the mattress and the dishevelled sheets marking out the pattern of his sleeping body from only moments earlier. For one enticing moment Steve considered crawling back into the bed and wrapping himself tightly in the sheets, but the yearning passed and drawing a steadying breath Steve turned and opened the door.


	39. Mitigating circumstances

Shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat he had been perched on for the past few hours, Mark found himself questioning the intellect of both the chair's designer and that of whoever had deemed it necessary to persecute the hospital's many patients and their relatives yet further with the unyielding grey moulded monstrosities that masqueraded as waiting-room furniture. Bad enough as it was that for whatever reason a visit to the hospital was necessary, to be forced to endure more than five minutes in such a device would, Mark was convinced, be in contravention of the human rights act.

Mark glanced at Amanda and found, with no great surprise, that she too was suspended on the edge of the chair, her head resting downcast in her hands as she jiggled her legs convulsively.

The drive to the hospital had passed in a blur of superficially cheerful banter, the youthful police officer who had arrived through the ocean mist seeming to believe that even a moment's silence was to be avoided at all costs.

They had arrived at the hospital soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, shot through with anticipation at what was awaiting them.

Much to the officer's annoyance, Mark and Amanda had disregarded him totally, winding their way through the maze of corridors that lined the labyrinthine hospital, seeking out the colleagues they were certain would be able to provide them with some much sought after answers.

Coming to the ER they had found no trace of Jesse or Steve and a worrying lack of staff presence.

At the first glimpse of blue scrubs Amanda had literally accosted the doctor who had the misfortune to cross her path, a bewildered plastic surgeon who had been called on the assess a burns' patient.

Finding that no information was forthcoming they had continued to prowl the department, finding at last a young nurse who despite her dogged refusal to make eye contact, had informed them gently that Jesse had been taken to theatre.

In the time that had passed Mark and Amanda had scarcely moved from their seats outside the operating theatre, flitting between moments of exhaustion that no amount of sitting in the plastic chairs could ease and restless tension that saw them pacing anxiously up and down the corridor.

Anxiety swelling in him yet again, Mark stood slowly from his seat feeling every muscle objecting to the movement and began to pace.

He had been to see Steve briefly after they had arrived at the hospital. Saw to it that he was comfortable, but despite knowing that he was safely confined to a hospital bed where he would undoubtedly be well taken care of, Mark could not ignore the guilt that his place should be at his son's side rather than here, outside an operating theatre where he could do nothing but wait.

Sinking back into the plastic chair Mark soughed in exhausted frustration. He glanced briefly again at Amanda and their gaze met briefly. She did not speak, but offered a commiserative smile before returning her head to her hands.

"This is ridiculous!" Mark sprang to his feet, angrily tugging at his damp jacket as he did so.

"What on earth is taking so long? I don't know what…"

Mark broke off as one of the double doors behind him swung open, a man clad in blue scrubs emerging from within.

"Alex!"

The man looked mildly surprised at the greeting he received, but composed himself at once.

"Mark, Amanda." Dr. Alex Bedwin inclined his head in acknowledgement, pulling the papery blue cap from his head as he so.

"Well?" The question was short and overtly demanding of a response, but Dr. Bedwin did not blanch at the unusual brusqueness of his colleague's interrogation.

"He's alive."

Mark exhaled deeply, physically wilting as relief flooded through him.

"How bad is it?"

Dr. Bedwin contemplated his words for a moment, but knew that to sugar-coat them would be a wasted effort.

"Dr. Travis… Jesse… is being taken to recovery."

Amanda twitched, her eyes flicking toward the end of the corridor where a sign clearly signalled the relatives' entrance to the recovery room.

"There was a single knife wound to the upper left quadrant of the torso that penetrated approximately six inches into the abdominal cavity. The spleen was perforated and the blade caused a moderate laceration to the left lobe of the liver. Now, we've tied off the bleeds and packed the belly but I'm afraid the extent of blood loss and hypothermia had already led to a dangerous level of metabolic acidosis."

"Have you got him on phosphodiesterase inhibitors?" Mark interjected, frowning at what he was hearing.

"Dobutamine. 650mg in 250ml normal saline. Jesse's sats are up to 96."

"What about the coagulopathy?"

"Intravenous crystalloid, cryoprecipitate and plasma. His BP is stable, but Mark… I don't need to tell you how serious Jesse's condition is."

Mark nodded bleakly, his gaze never wavering from his colleague's grim face.

"We'll re-operate in the twenty-four hours assuming…"

Amanda flinched, and casting a reproachful glare at Dr. Bedwin she strode past him and Mark and made her way up the corridor.

Mark made to follow, then faltered.

"Alex… thank you."

Dr. Bedwin nodded a solemn dismissal, and Mark turned to pursue Amanda.

The recovery room was kitted out much like an ICU, sparsely furnished yet seeming strangely congested with the machines and wires that crowded around each of the room's two occupants.

An unearthly stillness choked the atmosphere, hanging like a solid barrier to anything that might otherwise dare to disturb the patients.

Amanda's presence at the side of one of the beds immediately signified Jesse's location in the room, but Mark hesitated in joining her side. He glanced around, his gaze coming to rest on the face of the only other occupied bed, and blenched.

A sickeningly familiar face rested against the soft white pillows, a mess of greasy hair casting a filthy contrast to the stark cleanliness of the surrounding room. Mark was not sure why he was surprised – logic should have told him that the man, whoever he was, would inevitably be brought to surgery, and in turn, the recovery room. But seeing him there, seemingly resting so peacefully… it galled Mark more than he could have expected.

Dragging his gaze away from the gaunt, papery façade of the man Mark took in the cluster of bandages that wound their way about his body and allowed his eyes to come to a rest on the man's hands which were bound in two heavy leather cuffs to the side rails of the bed.

Satisfied that the threat of danger had receded for the first time in many hours, Mark retreated from the man's bed and turned his attention where he knew it was better placed: Jesse.

Mark's immediate reaction was to cast a scrutinizing gaze over Jesse, and for perhaps the first time in his life Mark found that he somewhat resented the extent of his medical knowledge.

The monitors showed an array of coloured lines progressing across the screens in an assortment of peaks and waves, and whilst Mark was relieved no end that there was activity to be measured, the display did nothing to alleviate his concern for his young friend.

Jesse, his skin grey beneath the mass of purple bruising that marred his usually vibrant face, lay completely motionless. His lips, dry and cracked, were parted slightly by the ventilation tube that protruded from his mouth and a band of violent contusions formed exquisite patterns around his throat where he had been seized in a strangler's grip.

Tearing his eyes away from Jesse's pale face Mark shook himself. He had seen people enter the ER in conditions similar to those of Jesse's and knew of outcomes both agonizingly tragic and mercifully gracious. He prayed for the latter.

Overcome by a sudden upsurge of fatigue Mark looked around for somewhere he might rest his aching legs, and spotting yet more of the formidable plastic chairs, retrieved two for himself and Amanda.

Time, despite being proclaimed as constant, seemed to be behaving quite wantonly to Amanda. The period spent outside the operating room had passed like an age, each and every second dragging in blatant disregard for Amanda's desire for the wait to be over, and now here in the recovery room the minutes were crawling by and racing in equal turns.

Jesse, she knew, would not waken. His chart, which she had perused with the keen eye her training afforded her, informed her that Jesse was to be kept sedated. Whilst Amanda knew this to be necessary, both for Jesse's recovery and as a means by which he be spared the suffering that would inevitably greet him when he woke, she wanted nothing more than to see his blue eyes sparkling; clear, free from pain, alive.

The sound of a commotion coming from outside the room seemed oddly loud and disconnected with the quiet and solemnity of the room's interior, and both Mark and Amanda turned in their seats, craning their heads to seek the source of the noise.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go in there!"

"Just try and stop me"

The second voice rang stridently through the air and Mark clearly recognised it to be his son.

"If you don't calm down sir, I will have to call security."

"Get out of the way!"

The recovery room door burst open and Mark caught sight of Steve attempting to disentangle himself from the grasp of a burly male nurse whom Mark knew to be far softer in demeanour than his robust appearance implied.

"Steve!" Mark jumped to his feet and strode into the fray, attempting to separate the two men.

"No! Steve," Mark pulled at the nurse's thick arm, "He's my son."

At these words the man immediately released his grip and straightened, looking ruffled.

The nurse glared at Steve who glared right back, a look of annoyance on his face stubborn face.

"You keep a hold of your boy Dr. Sloan, he's gonna get himself in trouble."

Mark took Steve's arm and positioned himself between the two.

"I can assure you that there will be no more trouble, thank you."

The nurse eyed Steve for a moment longer, then nodding a sceptical acquiescence, he turned and left.

"Come on" Maintaining a firm grip on Steve's arm, Mark led him out of the room.

As the door swung closed behind them Steve instantly shrugged his father's arm from his own, pulling himself away and scowling deeply.

"Don't apologise for me." Steve snapped, obviously irritated.

"I didn't!" Mark countered, taken aback by his son's accusatory glare.

"Oh forget it," Steve snapped again, sounding remarkably like a cantankerous teenager. He made to stalk past his father, but staggered slightly as he did so, being forced to reach out and steady himself against the wall.

Steve was silent for a moment. When he spoke next his voice was far softer.

"How is he?"

Mark hesitated in answering; half wishing that Amanda were present to interject and save him the chore of having to impart the knowledge he had of Jesse's condition. Knowing he was just delaying the inevitable however, he drew a breath and began to talk.

Whilst he was fairly convinced that his feet were placed firmly on the ground, Steve felt as if he were swaying where he stood. His head pounded and he wondered briefly if he dared to open his mouth for fear of being sick. The questions and concerns that resonated through his mind were overwhelming however, and Steve knew that the crescendo of pain would only continue to swell until he voiced them.

"How long is Jesse going to need the ventilator? What about the hypothermia? I thought you said it would help. That it would stop the blood loss? And now you're saying that it might kill him? We could have done something to warm him up, we could have stop this from ever happening!"

As Steve spoke his voice increased in volume and he gesticulated wildly with his left arm, leaning heavily against the wall in an attempt to maintain his balance as he continued to shout.

"Will you be quiet!" Mark barked, angry at his son's accusations and defensive of their accuracy. Added in to this mix was a fair degree of concern – Steve's pallor was tinged green and he was beaded with sweat.

"Please Steve," Mark implored, "Please don't be angry with me. I'm too tired and this isn't helping anyone, least of all Jesse."

Something in Mark's tone cut through Steve's anger at once and he visibly slumped, looking younger and smaller than he had in many years. Unexpectedly Steve careened forwards and fastened his father in a clumsy embrace, unwittingly clubbing him around the head with his cast in doing so. Mark however, content in the warmth his son was now demonstrating, said nothing of the dull ache throbbing in his temple.

"Steve…"

"No, don't Dad." Steve said, releasing his father and standing back shakily. "_I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't be blaming you, none of this is your fault, it's just… everything that's happened? You know?" Steve raised his arm to signify his broken wrist.

Mark tried not to, but smiled.

"What?" Steve looked confused.

Mark hesitated in responding, stepping to one side in the corridor to allow a young nurse to pass. She smiled appraisingly at Steve.

"Uh, your robe…" Mark said in an undertone, motioning to the white hospital-issue gown Steve was wearing.

"Wha…" He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the cool air brushing against his exposed skin and the cords of his robe hanging loosely down his bare calves. With a mortified glance back at the smiling nurse, Steve blushed.


	40. The End

It was late in the afternoon when Amanda found herself alone in an ICU room with Jesse. Mark had departed minutes earlier with the promise of a prompt return, determined to settle a flagging Steve back into his hospital bed.

The last vestiges of daylight were beginning to fade and the room grew darker around her, but Amanda made no effort to move; her attention comprehensively focused on the man lying before her.

Jesse's eyes did not open. They were closed; lost in a pale, remote face. His upper body lay bare, his abdomen swathed in bandages and his chest mottled by bruises in various stages of development. Innumerable tubes and wires snaked over his unconscious form, and the ICU room seemed to heave with the sighs and breaths of the various machines.

Amanda looked down at the frail form of Jesse; his expressionless face void of his usual buoyant charm she found it hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he had been bounding about his hospital duties with enthusiasm, somewhat like an overzealous puppy. Amanda felt an inexplicable anger flush up her face, reddening her cheeks. Whilst every ounce of her knew that Jesse bore no responsibility for his current, dreadful predicament, she nonetheless felt anger, and a fair degree of resentment that he should be lost in peaceful darkness – for she needed to believe that he was not suffering; suffering and unable to ask for help – whilst she, Steve and Mark were forced to face every waking minute knowing that he could be snatched away from them at any moment.

It was ironic, she thought, that when such a situation should arise in which only Jesse's unique mix of irreverent humour and gentle compassion would suffice to ease the anguish, it should be he who lies at the core of the heartache

Amanda leant forwards in her seat, resting her chin onto her cupped hand. The muscles in her neck felt incredibly tired, almost as if it were too great a task for them to support the weight of her head.

The room grew progressively darker and Amanda closed her eyes, tired to the point where she felt numb with fatigue.

As the sun dropped lower in the sky shadows began to lick at the walls, creeping higher and higher as the light slumped beyond the horizon.

Amanda awoke with a start.

"Oh, Amanda, I'm sorry," Mark spoke in hushed tones. "I was trying not to disturb you."

"What? Oh," Amanda blustered, "I didn't mean to fall asleep." She sat up straight in her chair, stretching her arms out in front of her and yawning.

"What time is it?"

"It's just gone quarter-past five."

Amanda nodded, stifling a second yawn.

"How's Steve?"

Mark smiled wryly and lowered himself into the chair besides Amanda's.

"Stubborn as ever, you now how he is. Argued all the way back to his room but settled quickly enough when he saw the bed waiting for him." Mark chuckled then heaved a sigh, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face.

"It could have been much worse you know, broken wrist, concussion… He's been lucky… we all have."

Both Mark and Amanda fell quiet, contemplating Mark's words. Amanda eventually broke the silence.

"What about… you know, the attacker?"

Mark did not answer at once.

"He's alive… and awake."

"What?" Amanda turned in her chair to face Mark.

Mark nodded solemnly, assiduously averting his eyes from Amanda's piercing gaze. He still felt a fair degree of guilty defiance at having played a role in saving the man's life.

"I've just spoken with Phil Avery – you know him?"

"Phil Avery? Yeah, I know him. Psychiatrist. Does trials in the ER every so often."

"That's him. He was called in to consult." Mark fell silent, his eyes falling once again on Jesse.

"And?" Amanda probed.

Mark sighed.

"His name's Schaffer. Russell Schaffer. No history of recorded mental illness but it does seem as though he's been heading that way for a while."

"He's talking?" Amanda said sharply.

Mark nodded.

"It's amazing really," he replied, shaking his head. "Despite all his injuries he's requiring only minimal support for breathing; he's alert _and_ having to be restrained."

Mark glanced up at Amanda, taking in the steely expression on her face; she clearly did not share his view that the man's condition was 'amazing'.

"I mean," Mark intoned sounding incredulous, "he seems to be running on pure adrenaline – there's no way he should even be conscious…"

Amanda did not respond, her lips pursed angrily.

"Uh, anyway," Mark stumbled, sensing Amanda's displeasure at the benignity with which he was referring to Jesse's attacker. "Phil seems to think he's had a psychotic episode – maybe exacerbated by an element of drugs or alcohol – he's waiting for the toxicology report."

Amanda snorted derisively and mumbled, "That's no excuse."

"No," Mark nodded solemnly, "That's no excuse…" he paused.

"Phil suspects some kind of personality disorder – hallucinations, grandiose delusions, paranoia, a complete lack of remorse – Phil says he has a history of defying authority, there's a string of failed relationships, a parasitic lifestyle, aggressiveness… There are several disorders that might be to blame, but… well, psychiatry isn't an exact science." Mark paused again, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Jesse's bruised chest.

Amanda remained silent, taking a moment to digest the information she was hearing.

"So," she said slowly, "what does this all mean? He'll get off on an insanity plea?" Amanda's voice shook slightly through anger. She knew she was being unreasonable and the likelihood of Russell Schaffer being released on any account was minimal, but still could not help but feel an intense resentment toward the man.

"No." Mark spoke more harshly than he had intended.

"No. He will _not_ be getting off. Not on any plea. I don't know if it will be a prison or a mental institution, but he will be punished for what he's done, that I am certain."

Amanda glanced up at Mark, noting the determination in his voice and the resolve on his tired face.

She offered him a small smile and nodded.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

The crystalline vista gleamed an azure so bright it suggested the hours of rain that had blighted the preceding few days had cleansed the sky of all impurities, washing them into the ocean with the tide of the storm. The steely thunderheads had been replaced with the merest suggestion of cloud casting an occasional pure white wisp here and there, whilst the brazen sun shone proud and majestic onto the streets of LA.

Mark gazed out of the window, basking in the sunlight, drinking in the warmth and comfort it bestowed. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed a small shudder to run down his spine. Turning back to face the room Mark released the blind, letting it drop back into place. Renewed shadows instantly sprang back into life, dancing lightly across the floor as the blinds fluttered back and forth. Narrow bands of light crept through the gaps in the slatted window, escaping into the room where they fell carelessly along the floor and up across the body and face of the figure laying asleep in the bed. Noticing this fact Mark repositioned the blinds, pushing the rays further down the foot of the bed and away from the occupant's face. Jesse did not stir.

Returning to the side of his young friend, Mark sat. Some thirty-six hours had passed since Jesse had been brought to the hospital, thirty-six hours since he had finally reached the help he had desperately needed.

Jesse had not stirred since losing battle with unconsciousness as they had begun the fraught journey down the lonely, grey highway and neither friendly coaxing nor the frequent but necessary jab of a syringe had awoken him.

For the umpteenth time that morning Mark found himself gazing into Jesse's face, searching for some sign of movement; a blink, a twitch, _anything_.

But Jesse was motionless – his blonde eyelashes resting quietly on his colourless cheeks, whilst his lips, cracked and grey, remained still around the ventilation tube that protruded from his mouth.

Mark knew he should be grateful. Jesse was alive, after all. He had survived the initial attack and the long, endless hours that had followed. He had survived the struggle to reach the hospital and two subsequent surgeries. His body had been cut and stitched and probed and bandaged, and still he fought. Against the massive blood loss and hypothermia. Mark had lost track of the number of times Jesse had arrested. He had seen his young friend's body go through more than he cared to imagine. His survival was a testament to his tenacity, and for that Mark _was_ grateful.

A high-pitched alarm broke the rhythmic pattern of the various life support machines, and Mark jumped abruptly from his seat, his eyes searching the many monitors for the source of the concern.

Finding the IV bag empty quelled the rising surge of fear, but had obviously left an impression on Mark's already strained face.

"Dr. Sloan?" ICU nurse Sally Harper stood in the doorway, an expression of concern etched onto her expressive face, and a fresh IV bag clasped in one hand.

"Dr. Sloan, you really ought to get some rest," Sally bustled into the room and began to replace the empty IV, her nimble hands working swiftly at a task they were accustomed to completing. Within a minute the job was complete, and Sally turned to face the doctor.

"He's in the best place Dr. Sloan, we'll take care of him. You go home now and get some sleep or you'll be no good for anyone!" Sally Harper stood hands on hips, an imperious expression on her face as she awaited a response.

Seeing though that her audience was none too willing to take orders, Sally huffed knowingly and strode from the room muttering.

Relieved that the alarm had signified nothing worse than an empty IV bag, Mark allowed himself a grin.

Nurse Harper as a robust woman, matronly and skilled in her work, she reminded him of the statuesque gym teacher he had been so frightened of in his schooldays. Despite the years he had on her, Sally always had the knack of making him feel like a naughty school boy.

Mark sat tiredly back into the chair.

It was true, he had not slept for many hours, determined instead to maintain a constant vigil at Jesse's bedside.

Steve, stubborn as ever, had refused to heed the advice of both his doctor and father and had discharged himself, proclaiming obstinately that he was 'fine'. He had, however, eventually given in to the exhaustion induced by his injuries and fallen asleep in a side room, which, Mark had consoled himself, was better than nothing.

Amanda, wrought with emotion and fatigue had fought her hardest to keep the vigil with Mark, but eventually succumbed to her body's demand for sleep and taken to the doctor's lounge.

Resting back in his chair Mark glanced around the room.

Despite the clinical surroundings, he felt safe here. Even the bare walls and lingering scent of disinfectant to him seemed a comfort. So far removed were the four walls of the private ICU room that Jesse occupied from Mark's own home that there were no comparisons to be brought between the two. Whilst Mark adored his home he knew that he could not rest there – not yet. Not so soon after everything that had happened, and certainly not alone.

_When Jesse's awake maybe_, he thought leaning his head to his shoulder and yawning.

_And Steve is feeling up to it_. Mark blinked slowly, his eyes gritty and aching.

_Steve…_ Mark closed his eyes and fleetingly wished that the turbulent events could have been washed away as easily as the storm clouds.

Drifting into sleep Mark's breathing slowed to a rhythmic pace, and but for a monitor resounding an echo of Jesse's heartbeat, the room was silent.

* * *

Hovering on the brink of consciousness was like fighting against the tide.

The gravity of the darkness pressing in around him was immense, a void of dense emptiness pulling him back into the steely black undercurrent.

Jesse fought against it, struggling toward the surface and breaking through the surf for fleeting moments, catching glimpses of light and sound and voices. It was the last of these, the voices that whispered in an indistinct murmuration at some intangible point in the distance that made him continue the struggle; grappling against the tendrils of obscurity that dragged him back down into the gloom.

It was in these brief moments of clarity that Jesse experienced meteoric bursts of pain that were so intense he willingly allowed himself to sink back into the insensate blissful reprieve unconsciousness afforded him.

But he continued to fight, drawing nearer and nearer to the surface, clawing his way back until the first threads of true consciousness penetrated the murky confines of his torpid mind.

Jesse blinked sluggishly and found the effort inconceivably draining, yet for his attempt he succeeded barely in opening his eyes even a fraction. He felt as if his eye were cemented together by the bond of some strong adhesive.

He tried again.

The light that filtered in was a dull, muted orange that exuded from a fixture in the ceiling above him.

Jesse blinked heavily, his vision blurred. He tried to focus on the luminous glow; the gossamer of muzzy coronas that shimmered around it.

He could not think, did not know where he was.

But there was pain. Endless, caustic, fierce pain. His entire body ached, but his abdomen seemed to be the epicentre of the agony.

Jesse opened his mouth, trying not to scream out. But he found he couldn't, his airway obstructed.

Jesse gagged, he could not breathe. There were hands around his neck, choking him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Jesse flailed, lashing out. An intense pain sheared through his side, burning into his chest, taking his breath.

He remembered the knife glinting in the car headlights, the cold steel, the pain.

"Jesse, shh, Jess. It's okay, Jesse. It's okay…"

Firm hands rested onto his shoulders, holding him down.

There was something familiar in the touch.

Jesse continued to struggle but his attempts became weaker and weaker as the effort required drained him of what little he had left to give. He gagged again, choking for air.

"Jesse, you're in the hospital. There's a tube in your throat, don't fight it, okay? Just breathe slowly, that's it."

The voice too was familiar, clear and strong in its command but carrying undeniable softness in its delivery.

Jesse forced himself to take a shallow breath, doubting the ability of the tube that to all intents and purposes he felt was obstructing his throat, to give him enough oxygen to quench the burning in his chest.

Slowly, very slowly, the wave of panic began to subside.

Jesse blinked more determinedly, squinting his eyes and lowering his gaze, allowing it to come to a rest on the blurry but unmistakably smiling face of Mark Sloan.

"Hi Jesse." Mark grinned broadly, smiling with true happiness for the first time in what felt like weeks.

"Nice of you to join us," Mark chuckled, feeling quite suddenly that a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The sight of his friend's blue eyes, unfocused and bloodshot though they were, was all he had needed to be certain that the worst was now behind them.

Jesse, incapable of doing much else, blinked again. The motion was unusually prolonged as he fought to keep his eyes open.

Jesse's head was beginning to ache. The light, though dimmed, seemed abnormally harsh, and the symphony of beeping and hisses exuding from the many machines that filled the room was beginning to grate; resounding dully in his ears.

Mark's face drifted in and out of focus and the room grew darker. Jesse tried to force his eyes to stay open, scared of falling too deeply back into the black abyss, but the struggle to remain conscious was becoming too much.

His eyelids finally ceding to the draw of unconsciousness Jesse felt himself sinking down into the bed, his muscles relaxing as the pain that had filled his body ebbed away and the gloom that clouded his vision became complete as he once again succumbed to the respite of sleep.

* * *

Mark drummed his fingers lazily onto the chart that rested on his lap. He had read through its contents numerous times and was quietly satisfied with the batch of graphs and numbers that represented Jesse's slow recovery.

Mark found himself once again at Jesse's bedside, this time accompanied by Steve who – despite frequently screwing his eyes up against the headache that was obviously bothering him – claimed to be fully recovered from the concussion he had sustained.

Jesse had flittered in and out of consciousness intermittently, his periods of wakefulness increasing steadily and each time his eyes opened the blue shone that little bit clearer.

Earlier that morning he had been extubated – an alarming experience for both Jesse and his friends as they had watched him cough and wheeze, gasping for air before his breathing settled into a shallow rhythm.

He had lay, mouth slightly agape, breathing heavily, his face waxy and pallid and creased in pain, and without speaking his eyes had closed and he had drifted into sleep.

Mark, Steve and Amanda, all of whom had doggedly ignored the 'family-only-and-one-person-at-a-time' rule clearly signposted throughout the ICU, cluttered the room whilst maintaining a stream of banter; alternately jollying the conversation along with jokes and embarrassing anecdotes – most of which, to Steve's chagrin, were at his expense – and falling into hushed whispers where the current status of Russell Schaffer was heatedly discussed.

"Mark?"

Mark started, jostling forwards in his seat so rapidly that the chart fell with a clatter to the floor.

"Jesse!"

"Jess!"

Steve, who had moments earlier been slouched in his chair, head lolling sleepily onto his chest, jumped up.

"Hey" Jesse spoke softly, his voice sounding odd to his own ears.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked the question and instantly felt rather stupid for what, given the situation, was somewhat of an inane question.

Jesse smiled fleetingly, his face lighting up for the briefest of seconds as he did so.

"I'm ok… What happened to your wrist?"

It was typical Jesse. Despite it being he who was confined to a hospital bed his concern nonetheless resided with others.

Steve looked quickly at his father then down at his wrist.

"Oh, you know," he said with a shrug, "Line of duty and all." He gave a small chuckled that, even to his own ears, sounded false. He hadn't made a conscious decision to lie, or mislead at any rate, but on the spur of the moment it seemed far easier not to get into the whole story of a night he would just as rather forget.

"Do you remember what happened Jesse?" Mark asked the question with some hesitation. None of them yet knew the details of his attack – how he had come to be so viciously beaten – but at the same time he was not quite certain that he wanted to be the one to fill him in on the subsequent events that he was unlikely to have been aware of.

Jesse did not respond immediately. He remembered what had happened only too clearly.

Since he had regained consciousness – true consciousness – he had been plagued with flashes of memory. Searing pain and the cold rain beating down onto his body; the man bearing down on him, fingers laced around his throat; the shadows closing in as he tried to reach the beach house.

Jesse was grateful for the chatter that met his ears when he woke, but was greeted by darkness that seethed with menace the instance his eyes closed. He didn't know where the memories ended and the nightmares began.

Jesse met Mark's eyes and gave a small nod.

"Yeah," he said softly, "I remember."

Steve and Mark exchanged a glance, knowing only too well that the extent of Jesse's awareness could not possibly stretch to the whole story. The obvious frailty of their friend however, the weakness in his voice and the pain in his eyes, was enough to convince them both that the full story could wait until another day, when he was stronger.

Jesse however, had other ideas.

"So… uh, do you know…? I mean… who… the guy who…" Jesse faltered, looking apprehensive.

"The man who attacked you?" Mark replied.

Jesse nodded again.

"Because, I mean, I can't remember the licence plate but I remember the car and… and I could give you a description…" Jesse broke off, catching on to the look that flashed between Mark and Steve despite the fogginess that was beginning to cloud his head again.

"What?"

Mark looked at Jesse, considering his response. He sighed heavily. There was no point in lying, but he had wanted to spare Jesse the knowledge of what had happened after he had arrived at the beach house, certain that his response would be to blame himself.

Jesse listened mutely as Mark spoke, his attention flicking back and forth between the two men as Steve interjected with the occasional addition.

Sure enough his reaction was exactly as Mark had expected.

"This is all my fault." Jesse whispered, his voice barely audible.

"No it isn't" Steve retorted, glaring at Jesse intently.

"It is." Jesse muttered, to himself more than anyone.

"I started it all off. I made him angry. I… I was driving too fast or something…"

"Oh don't be stupid Jesse. Russell Schaffer is completely insane; if it wasn't you it would have been someone else, don't you get that? You were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You didn't ask that maniac to attack us anymore than you asked him to attack you."

"But_ I_ led him to you!" Jesse intoned, his voice rising. He winced and stiffened in his bed, throwing his head back as a spasm of pain rippled through his body.

"Jesse, it's not your fault." Mark stressed, standing and placing a hand on Jesse's tense shoulder, pushing him gently back down onto the bed. "It's _not_."

Jesse did not argue – at least not verbally – unable to speak as the jagged pain continued to course through his body. But Mark could see the guilt in his eyes and he cursed Russell Schaffer for putting it there. Not only had the man damaged Jesse physically, he had marked him psychologically – and it was those scars that would remain long after the physical wounds had healed.

"Russell Schaffer is locked up where he belongs – he's not going to hurt anyone else, alright? What matters now is that you're going to be ok. I'm ok, Steve's ok, Amanda's ok. We're _all_ ok, okay?"

Jesse smiled despite the pain,

"Okay."

* * *

The Pacific Ocean glinted like a sheet of rippled glass in the morning sunlight, refracting the shimmering rays back up into the sky. The view was nearly perfect, spoiled only by the solid grey bars that obstructed the window.

Russell Schaffer faced the window staring unseeingly out, his gaze resting on some vague point on the horizon. He muttered to himself distractedly under his breath, his fingers moving fervently about their task as he continued his smouldering tirade.

_Telling me to sleep, as if I'm life them! Weak… pathetic… I don't need sleep. I'm better than that, better than them._

Schaffer moved his fingers more nimbly and shuddered in perverse delight as a slither of pain snaked through his chest.

_Fools. Just let them try, let them try and keep me down… No idea who they're dealing with… just a matter of time… Let them try and stop me._

He clawed at his skin, tearing at the stitches that held his damaged chest together, gauging his nails into the semi-healed wound and paring the flesh open into a bloody crevice. With a renewed shiver of pain he pulled the thin thread of a stitch from his chest and let it drop into the growing pile of similarly bloodied sutures.

Schaffer allowed his eyes to drift, taking in the throng of people on the streets below going about their business. He wondered if they knew of him yet, wondered if they spoke his name in the awe his existence demanded.

If not, then they soon would.

He pulled another stitch from his body, a trickle of blood oozing from the gaping wound. It pleased him.

It would need attention, he knew that.

_Maybe_, he thought, _Maybe **he** will come._

He had heard the nurses talking, knew that he was a doctor.

Tracking the progress of the rivulet of blood as it trickled down his bruised chest, Schaffer smiled in satisfaction.

_The blonde one… Jesse._

THE END


End file.
